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SUBSCRIBERS' EDITION 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 




BY 



HUDSON AND EMMA ROOD TUTTLE 



THE TUTTLE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
BERLIN HEIGHTS, OHIO 

J. R. FRANCIS, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 

LIGHT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LONDON, ENGLAND 

W. H. TERRY, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA 



LlBHAS'j or 00K!ttHE3-S| 
5 Two Oopies H'ici»iv't-'J 

DtC 6 90? 



COPTBIGHT, 1907 

By HUDSON TUTTLB 



REGAN PKINTINQ COMPANY 
CHICAGO, ILL. 






FOEEWOED. 



In the first years of our united lives we published "Blos- 
Boms of Our Spring," thinking when the autumn came we 
would have another volume fitting the closing years of 
fruitage. 

A half century has gone by since those halycon days 
and the declining sun is casting lengthening shadows. 

We have prepared the volume and send it with our 
greetings, to the friends who have assured us of its wel- 
come. ^ 

The horizon of our lives has constantly broadened, and 
a wide segment now reaches into the purple clouds and 
gray mists of infinitude, which lift more and more, reveal- 
ing the reaches of awakened activity beyond the sunset. 

Yet do we feel the consciousness of incompleted tasks, 
and no desire from weariness, to rest from doing, or sur- 
cease from striving to brighten the light of our own torches 
and kindle the flame of others. 

Berlin Heights, Ohio, October 11, 1907. 



Number 



ISX^ 




?^ ^' 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Ourselves 7 

A Conjugal Phenomenon 32 

Forgetting Self 33 

Thoughts About My Body 36 

The Old Piano 37 

Do Angels Have Sorrows ? 39 

A Homesick Angel 43 

Lost Personality 44 

Has Spiritualism Given a New Thought to the World? 45 

Give a Push 49 

His Last Song 50 

Montazuma 51 

Florida Violets 57 

A Little Dressed-up Lie 58 

Life and Death — An Allegory 59 

A Man's a Man, for A' That 70 

The Holy Heights 74 

Will God Give Us Another Chance? 76 

The Great Eternal Pity 79 

She Has Arisen 80 

A Story About a Poem 85 

Your Life or Your Labor 86 

On 87 

Thieves Which the Law Cannot Touch 88 

My Kingly St. Bernard 93 

Gleanings — Paragraphs 95 

The Items of Spring 105 

Time and Matter for Lyceum Lessons 106 

Lesson L What Is a Progressive Lyceum? 109 

Lesson 11. Growth of the Body 110 

Lesson III. Mental Growth Ill 

Lesson IV. Spiritual Growth 112 

A Eegion of Calms 114 

A Christmas Carol 115 

The True Education 118 

Super-Sensitive 120 

Consolation at the Death of a Child 121 

The Passing of Our First Fledgling 123 

Confused 126 

A Dead World — A Prescient Vision 127 

The Instinct of Life 133 

Self -unmade People 134 

There Shall Be Peace 142 

Grandmother Goes Nutting 146 

When Raw Winds Snarl and Bite 147 



g CONTENTS 

Page 
Humane Education : Its Scope and Highest Aim in Character 

Building 149 

The Ladder of Love 152 

A Belief That Spiritualizes 153 

Women of the Golden Cord 156 

A Quiet Fourth of July 160 

Launched, But Whither Bound? 161 

One Lonely Hour 163 

Was It a Soul, or His Dream? 163 

Weary Women 164 

A Cruel Omission 165 

An Escaped Lie 166 

Coming Back to Grandpa 's 168 

The Captain of the Bout 170 

Hungry People 171 

More Generous Than Just to Self 182 

The Parting of the Ways 183 

A Far Call 184 

To Sara A. Underwood 184 

Heaven and Hell 185 

Our Fellow Creatures, Human and Dumb 189 

The Trees About the Old Homestead 198 

Her Last Reception 199 

A Bitter Nut, or a Peach? 200 

When Fritzie Thinks of Me 201 

Are We Well Sheltered? 201 

The Captive Eagle 204 

The Sylph of the Air 206 

Alas! 208 

Don 't You Know? 209 

When the Loving Mistress Dies 210 

Little Fool 211 

An Object in Black 212 

God 214 

A Modern Tragedy 214 

The Sunbeam's Task 2]5 

At Mount Vernon 217 

How to Eest 218 

A Man in the Kitchen 220 

A Golden Chain Eecitation 221 

Society Work 222 

Peace on Earth 225 

To Our Dear Frank 227 

The Guardian Angel 228 

A Few Lines from Emma 234 

A Christmas Gift from the Dead 235 

Having One 's Way • 244 

The Egret Plume 245 

Leaners and Lifters 246 

' ' Bum ' ' of San Diego 247 

The Death of McKinley 249 

Marriage 250 

The Lesson of Shams 254 

A Golden Sheaf from Our Friends 256 

List of Subscribers 278 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 



OUESELVES 

A journey of fifty years! How interminable it seems 
looking ahead, how short looking pastward! It would 
have been wearisome, objectless, selfish and disappointing, 
had it been taken alone. With companionship, support, 
sympathy and mutual trust, its cares are lightened, the 
weary days shortened, the flinty paths softened with the 
flowers of loving kindness. Now we have reached the 
western slope of the Great Divide, and in quiet I ask my 
companion : Had you known, that lovely morning we first 
met, all that fate had stored for our united lives, all the 
dark hours of pain, choking grief, disappointment, exact- 
ing tasks, would you have answered yes? 

I know you would affirm as unreservedly as would I, for, 
after all, the days of sunshine have been many and the 
dark days exceptional. They have come into our lives, not 
by our own seeking, but by the force of circumstances, and 
we have mastered them, nor have they made the waters of 
life bitter, or broken its current. In the main they have 
been such as come to the lot of all, and we, standing to- 
gether, have been stronger to meet and dare, than we could 
have been alone. 

We thought our home, with the precious three children, 
ideal, and their going out into the world was hard to bear. 
Yet we could not always have them in the nest. The 
fledgling bird must fly, for the air is its element and it 
can be happy only when exercising its freedom. Nor could 
we hold our eldest with earthly ties, and must solace our 
aching hearts with the reflection that she gained a purer 
sphere by her emancipation from mortal life. 

They are all ours still, two on earth, one in heaven, and 

7 



8 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

the heavenly one is nearer and visits us oftener; is the 
most intimately ours, though our mortal senses fail to 
reveal her shadowy form. 

The kindest manifestation of overbrooding love is the 
thick and impenetrable veil that shuts the future from us. 
Our strength is not wasted in vain fear of the inevitable, 
and when we meet tomorrow's message, we can bravely 
respond. Day by day it comes, and for the requirements 
made on us we have strength. 

All our children were born in the old farm homestead. 
Here they were reared. They have left souvenirs in the 
trees and shrubbery planted; the arbors they built, and 
pictures they sketched on the walls. The great elm was 
planted by our boy, Carl, when five years old. It was a 
tiny seedling with only three leaves when he brought it 
from the woodland. The tree with crimson foliage, our 
eldest daughter planted and like everything she touched, 
responded with vigorous growth. The wauhoo which all 
winter enlivens with its red fruitage, Clair, our youngest, 
brought from the woods when in leaf and made it live and 
grow by constant attention. The tall, ambitious lombardy 
which flaunts its aspiring coronal, like a gigantic plume, 
was set by Madge, our grand-daughter, as she said, "to 
keep my memory green." 

And well do I remember, it is more than sixty years ago, 
my mother planted a walnut by the gate, saying that she 
wanted a shade tree there. Father gloomily said no one 
would live to see her tree cast a shadow. Now it spreads 
out its great limbs and the first frost covers the ground 
with its fruitage. The long row of beautiful maples, which 
flame in the autumn days, well do I remember when my 
father transplanted them, and I with childish strength 
held them up while he sighted them into line. 

Under the cedars is the grave of Trouper, our beloved 
St. Bernard, most human of all animals, most devoted and 
sympathetic. 

The rooms of the house which for half a century have 
been gathering bric-a-brac, books, pictures, and nameless 
gifts of friends, vibrate with influences which awaken a 
thousand memories — pleasing memories — with shadows 
here and there. 

Of the earliest guest that memory recalls (of my parents) 

' was Prof. 0. S. Fowler, then in the floodtide of his efforts 

to bring phrenology before the world, and make it a factor 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 9 

of education. He had utilized the theoretical teachings 
of Dr. Gall, and his lectures captivated a public which was 
just awakening from the lethargy of religious domination 
and craving to be led to new fields. Phrenology did not 
prove itself a "science," nor establish the great claims he 
made for it, but he carried with it a tide of common sense 
in hygiene, self-culture, social relations, and liberal thought, 
and represented the most advanced ideas of the time— and 
far ahead of the time. Phrenology has passed, but the lib- 
eral ideas, religious, social and domestic, have displaced 
the old, and few there are who give this early pioneer the 
credit he deserves. 

Mr. Datus Kelly, half owner of Kelly's Island, one of 
the largest of the islands in the western portion of Lake 
Erie, was a constant visitor, attending seances. He gave 
us invaluable assistance in many ways. 

Seldon J. Finney, an ardent discipline of Andrew Jack- 
son Davis, and an inspirational speaker of the first order, 
gave us many an hour of sunshine. He was iconoclastic, 
but the torrent of his eloquence carried his audience away 
from their prejudices. 

Henry C. Wright, who was altruistic before that word 
came to its present signification, argued in the parlor that 
a kiss should be given for a blow. 

Mr. Everett, who with unbounded faith in the new cause, 
began the publication of the Spiritual Universe, in Cleve- 
land, came for spiritual instruction. 

William White, one of the original founders of the Ban- 
ner of Light, sat here and discussed with angelic sweetness, 
always saying the best of friend or foe, and passing their 
failings by. That was the policy which controlled the 
management of the journal while he was connected with 
it. He had perfect trust in spirit guidance and was so 
pure and spiritual that he was safe in so doing. 

M. Schlarbaum, engaging Dr. Ashenbrenner to translate 
the Arcana of Nature, which had been recently published 
by the Banner of Light Publishing house, made a journey 
from N'ew York to bring a copy of the translation and con- 
gratulate over his success in bringing the book to the at- 
tention of German students. 

Hon. A. E. Giles, after acquiring position and wealth 
by practice in the courts in Boston, retired to Hyde Park, 
and devoted himself to the study of psychic phenomena' 
A graduate of Harvard, sensitive to a most remarkable 



10 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

degree, continued a student to his latest hour. One evening 
coming in from a long drive we found him at home in the 
parlor. It was a most pleasant surprise, for he was, we 
rejoice to say, one of our dearest friends, with his constant 
sympathy and alert helpfulness. 

Eev. J. 0. Barrett, uncle of Harrison D. Barrett, presi- 
dent of the N. S. A., came overflowing with enthusiasm and 
ready for any work which would enlighten the world. 

Dr. J. M. Peables was a frequent visitor, as he flitted 
to and fro filling his lecture engagements. After his first 
journey around the world he sat in the armed chair and 
talked of his adventures in foreign lands. The Turkish 
fez which adorns the top of the easel he brought from Con- 
stantinople, and the chain of beads wrought from sacred 
olive wood from the banks of the Jordan. 

Ada Ballon, who has made a name on the Pacific Coast, 
by her self-devotion, for a too brief time was a cheery 
guest. 

Hon. 0. P. Kellog, one of the earliest trance speakers in 
Northern Ohio, enlivened by his quaint wit and keen 
repartee. In later years he removed to Wyoming and was 
elected representative by unanimous voice of men and 
women, as can be happily said of that state. Here also 
discoursed the Sage of Summerland, J. S. Loveland, and 
the stalwart E. P. Wilson dominating and bearing down 
opposition by resistless force. 

Frank L. Wadsworth was an early visitor, when he was 
young in the lecture field, before he found his place at the 
Chicago bar. 

Cephas B. Lynn came often when he was a favorite on 
the platform, before he attached himself to the liberal wing 
of the church. 

Prof. S. P. Leland was another welcome guest, when he 
first came before the public as a lecturer on geology and 
astronomy, and won enviable distinction. 

There is a beautiful branch of coral on the mantle white 
as marble and fragile as frost crystals. It was brought 
from Samoa by W. H. Terry, editor of the Harbinger of 
Light, Australia, when he came to the World's Exposition 
at Chicago. He returned from the fair with us and re- 
mained for two weeks as had been arranged. Of him it 
may be truly said his is the Spiritualism which spiritual- 
izes. His pure and noble mind is clear and certain in its 
recej)tion and expression of inspired thoughts. Out in the 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 11 

lane, leading to the pasture, is a granite boulder where I 
met him while he was taking his "constitutional" — morn- 
ing walk. We sat there and talked of pleasing things and 
let the world go by. I pass it almost every day and never 
without a thought of my dear friend on the other side of 
the world, beneath the Southern Cross. 

Mrs. H. F. M. Brown made us frequent calls. She at- 
tempted to do, what others under far more favorable cir- 
cumstances have failed to do, maintain a paper for the 
children of liberalists and spiritualists. She was a pleasing 
speaker and helpful friend. 

That photograph on the wall is of E. W. Wallis, the 
English lecturer, psychic, author, and on the editorial 
staff of Light. He came from Cleveland where he was en- 
gaged for the anniversary, to bid us goodby before his re- 
turn to England. 

The Bible of the Ages is on the center table, left by Giles 
B. Stebbins, who labored by the side of Garrison and 
Wendell Phillips in anti-slavery times, and when the cause 
was won across smoking battlefields, he turned his attention 
to liberal thought, and reforms in general. He was able, 
scholarly, of profound erudition, and a delightful conver- 
sationalist. The fastidiousness of his speech may be 
learned by a remark of his wife, who apologized for him 
on his return from a western tour. She said: "Giles has 
fallen into the use of slang. He said 'lots'." 

Her engagement by our Lyceum, brought Emma Hard- 
inge, who had promised for a long time to pass a week 
with us. An immense audience greeted her and was en- 
thralled by her magnificent eloquence. It also brought 
Mr. and Mrs. Whelock, then missionaries for the Ohio 
State Association which was more vigorous than any sim- 
ilar organization which has since existed. 

The inkstand into which our pens have dipped for the 
past twenty-five years, was a gift from Col. John C. Bundy 
and Mrs. Bundy on our Silver Wedding. Many times he 
came to us for a day of rest, while editing the Keligio- 
Philosophical Journal and to consult on the best policy to 
make it successful. 

There is a volume of ballads on the shelf of the library 
set apart for choice books. It is by James G. Clark, who 
gave helpful aid in preparation of the music for the Ly- 
ceum Guide. He was a true poet and unequaled ballad 
singer. 



12 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

How many pleasant hours we have enjoyed with Thomas 
Lees, who for twenty-five years managed the Cleveland Pro- 
gressive Lyceum, and was the active force of the connected 
society. Once he came with Mr. Clegg Wright, a psychic 
wonder, and able teacher. And again with Mr. and Mrs. 
Clifford who were engaged in publishing The Lyceum, 
which in every way deserved success. 

The Hon. A. B. French, who partially retired from the 
lecture field on account of his health to the control of an 
extensive nursery at Clyde, 0., was always a welcome 
visitor. 

Pleasant a.re the recollections of the enthusiastic Geo. E. 
Weiss, translator into German of The Philosophy of Spirit 
and The Arcana of Spiritualism. Most admirably did he 
perform this task. 

Dr. and Mrs. Cyriax, he enthusiastic, she devoted and 
guiding, the influence they imparted comes as a refresh- 
ing memory. 

There are sheets of music left by Anna Herbert, her 
exquisite songs, which have sung their way to countless 
hearts, "When the Mists Have Cleared Away" and "Stand 
by the Guards." 

That photograph is of J. E. Francis. When he came 
we sat down for a review of the whole field of the present, 
the past and prophetically the future. Countless attempts 
to make a journal expressive of the advanced thoughts of 
the time have been made and ended in humiliating failures. 
He alone has brought the Progressive Thinker to success as 
a power for shaping thought and its dissemination. He 
has been more than a friend. 

We have not space to mention the names of those less 
known to the public but retained fresh in memory. And 
there are photographs and gifts from those we have never 
had the pleasure of meeting face to face, who yet in spirit 
are here, and our spheres touch and blend. 

And there are recollections not as pleasing, of tramps 
sent on missions, self-hypnotized, or by some obsessing 
power. They were the driftwood on the great current. 

Three distinct classes of visitors come and are welcomed : 
Mortal guests, letters and the friends who part the veiling 
shadows of death. 

When we sit in the silent rooms, these influences come 
and bring visions of other days ; the coming of this or that 
friend ; the prattle of our children on the floor ; their sharp 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 13 

questioning and bids for play. And again the gates swing 
wide revealing forms of light and beauty on the other side 
of the veil drawn before the mortal senses. 

My father traced his lineage to John Tuthill, who came 
irom England in 1640 to Orient, Long Island; my mother 
was of the widely dispersed Leland family of New Eng- 
land. They came soon after their marriage to Berlin, Ohio, 
and began the task of carving a home out of the wilder- 
ness. As I have heard the story of their lives, their suffer- 
ings from deprivations, malaria, and the hardships of a 
new country, were almost to the limit of endurance. The 
companionable, vivacious disposition of my mother; her 
exceedingly sensitive temperament, made her a victim of 
incurable homesickness. The pioneers were kind and gen- 
erous, for this part of Ohio — the Western Eeserve — was set- 
tled by New England people, and the hardships of pioneer 
life knit them together; but they were not to her like the 
old friends she had left in the East. She had the gift of 
magnetic healing, unrecognized at that time. Her presence 
in the sick room brought relief and hope to the sufferers in 
the distant homes to which she went to cheer and heal. 
Seeing the necessity, in the want of medical skill, she ac- 
quired knowledge of the properties of the drugs then in 
use and of the treatment of the prevalent diseases, and 
many a fever tortured sufferer in lonely cabin was relieved 
by her attention, which was given without the expectation 
of other reward than the blessedness of giving. 

A clearing was made in the forest, that the immense 
oaks and walnuts might not fall on the log cabin built in 
the open space by the assistance of the neighbors. It was 
there I first opened my eyes on the scenes of this beautiful 
world, October 4, 1836. 

The country rapidly improved, yet at my earliest recol- 
lections, the forest was no more than broken here and there 
by a stump-covered field. The school house was two miles 
away ; a log house, and when it rained, the children had to 
gather under such places as protected from the drip of the 
water. The teachers would not pass an examination now. 
Their main qualification was ability to "govern" the over- 
grown and rebellious pupils, whose ages ranged from five 
to twenty-five years, and were always ready to spring a 
surprise on the teacher. There were many rough boys, 
whom I detested and feared, and my few school days were 
not happy ones. 



14 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

In this school house every summer, a Sunday school was 
held under the auspices of the Methodists. People came 
from considerable distance, so that quite a large society 
was formed. I attended as truantly as I did the school and 
when it was announced that the society would hold a picnic 
on the lake shore, the coming Fourth of July, and that 
each teacher would take his or her class in a wagon, car- 
riages were not then common, excitement prevailed. It 
was further stated that the member who had recited the 
largest number of verses from the Bible from the com- 
mencement of the school to that day, would have the honor 
of riding in the front wagon and carrying the flag. I 
sighed for the honor, which seemed hopeless, for the verses 
I had recited at the few meetings I had attended would 
make a poor showing with those who had attended every 
session. There was one Sunday remaining, and I made 
the most of the intervening week in study of the lesson. An 
uncle was teacher of the class to which I belonged, and 
when my turn came to recite, called on me. I began with 
the lesson and continued until the time had expired. "How 
much more can you repeat?" he asked. "I do not know 
how many chapters," I replied, ^^ell, you have already 
twice as many verses as any one else in the school, and 
there is no need of your going on." 

As discussions on dogmatic theology had been my spir- 
itual diet, and some way the Unitarians to which my peo- 
ple belonged were second in popular favor to the Trinita- 
rians, who were true blue orthodox, the carrying of that 
flag at the head of the procession, filled my soul with joy, 
so much so, that through all the clouds of years and things 
forgotten, it is as clear as though of yesterday. 

And this brings me to notice of influences which bent 
the current of my life. Circuit preachers came to the 
school-house at appointed times. There was no church 
building or place for meeting. There were Methodist and 
Christian (IJnitarian) circuit riders, and the Christian 
made his stopping place at my father's. He came on horse- 
back, green leggings strapped around his legs, and leather 
saddle-bags thrown behind his saddle. After an early sup- 
per all walked the two miles to the school-house, carrying 
tallow candles for lights. The sermon was always "doc- 
trinal," the Christian showing the absurdity of the three- 
in-one God and trinitarianism in general, and when the 
Methodist rider came he of course took up the gauntlet. 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 15 

We all went to hear what he had to say. The preacher's 
words were quoted as the quintessence of wisdom and elo- 
quence, yet their knowledge was confined to the Bible, and 
their discourses were pitiable verbiage. As I had been 
trained to look up to the ministers with reverent awe, their 
pointed language and arvtagonism produced a strange re- 
vulsion. 

When we came from meeting doctrines were discussed. 
They were the subject when we reached home. They were 
brought to the breakfast table and the preacher when he 
mounted his horse to leave gave a parting shot. The ser- 
mon was talked over until the next meeting, and the Bible 
ransacked for texts for and against. My whole child-b'fe 
was darkened, oppressed and filled with gloom by that 
blasting theology. Dependent for social life on those who 
thought of little else, and that it was a sin to have laugh- 
ter in the heart, there was gloom and doubt over the whole 
world. As my mind strengthened, these doubts grew and 
at twelve I did not believe and detested the whole cruel 
and senseless scheme. I could see no reason for accepting 
the doctrines of one sect more than the other, and as they 
were antagonistic they were mutually destructive. I was 
more iijfidel than Paine, for I doubted everything. 

My father was wrapped and overwhelmed by the doc- 
trines he had been taught to be vital for salvation. Until 
I was sixteen years old, I never saw him smile. He was 
constantly brooding over the fate of sinners and the fear 
that he and his friends would be among the lost. Then 
he came to a knowledge of the Spiritual philosophy, and 
was one of the happiest, always smiling for the great joy 
in his heart. I recollect once the circuit preacher reproved 
him. Father thought the devil constantly tempted him. 
'^Brother Tuttle," said the preacher, ^^I do think you lay 
too heavy a load on the devil !'' 

A destitute woman called at the gate asking for a gift 
of corn for her family in need. There was a scarcity of 
corn that year and she asked for only a bushel. Father 
filled the box of the one-horse wagon full and heaped. 
"Why did you give her so much?" asked mother. Father 
triumphantly replied, "The devil kept telling me, 'enough, 
enough,' and I piled on till he stopped." 

With all these discouragements, I was possessed with an 
intense desire for knowledge, for its own sake; because it 
was a delight to know. I thirsted for it as a famishing 



16 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

traveler on desert waste. Yet there appeared no possible 
way of my gratification. It came in a strange and unex- 
pected manner. In the introduction to The Arcana of 
Spiritualism I have given the psychic experience which 
led up to that state wherein invisible teachers came to my 
aid. The knowledge they could impart was only limited 
by my capability to receive. This inspiration I received as 
a means of culture, not as a mere instrument. The teach- 
ers said that this was wise — I must assist myself. 

My first volume was Life in Two Spheres, or Scenes in 
the Summerland. There was, to me, no possibility of its 
publication, yet the writers assured me that it would be 
brought out. ^Ir. Datus Kelly, who was a constant caller, 
desired me to read portions of it to him. When I had 
finished, he said, "You will publish the book ?" 

"The authors say that it will be, but I do not know how 
it will be possible, for I have not the means nor influential 
friends." 

"I will publish it myself," he sententiously replied. It 
was among the earliest books on the subject and had a 
satisfactory sale. It was republished in England. 

I then began the Arcana of Nature, and when I had, as 
I supposed, finished it, I found that it had been written 
for my own instruction, and not for the public, and the 
writers desired the manuscript destroyed, promising to re- 
write the book. Again I began the task, I confess with a 
feeling of discouragement, yet was I cheered by the cer- 
tainty and precision with which the work proceeded. When 
finished it was pronounced correct and Mr. Kelly, who had 
read the MS, as it proceeded, again came to the rescue and 
placed the work in the hands of the Banner of Light Pub- 
lishing House. 

It was soon translated into German, and received with 
favor. Its recognition was greatly due to the praise of 
Dr. Biichner, leader of the materialistic school. He had 
overlooked the translater's appendix in which the manner 
of the writing of the work was clearly stated, and some- 
how became possessed with the idea that the author was 
professor in a college in Cleveland. He used its contents 
freely in the composition of his renowned book on Matter 
and Force (Kraft und Stoff). He selected passages for 
mottoes to head his chapters, quoted largely and embodied 
paragraphs without giving credit. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 17 

He was engaged by the Turnverein to give one hun- 
dred lectures in the principal cities of this country. 

Dr. Cyriax, an ardent and aggressive Spiritualist, was 
secretary of the Cleveland Turnverein, and to him was 
assigned the care of the lecturer. The Doctor had been 
exiled because of his activity in the revolution of ^48, and 
like most agitators was at the time materialistic. He had 
become a Spiritualist by means of his own mediumship, 
and in after years returned to the Fatherland, and pub- 
lished a delightful spiritual journal until he passed over 
the border. 

When Dr. Biichner found that he was to visit Cleve- 
land, he wrote Dr. Cyriax, saying that he had learned that 
I resided there, and that he wanted to meet and become 
acquainted with one who had given him so much assist- 
ance. 

Dr. Cyriax invited me to a banquet given in honor of 
the lecturer and the exiles of '48, and perhaps twenty-five 
responded. 

After the introduction. Dr. Cyriax said in substance: 
"My dear doctor, you have spoken in highest praise of the 
^Arcana of Nature,' you have said it was far in advance of 
the profoundest scientist of the day; you have quoted it 
largely and followed its lead. Now, do you know who 
wrote it?" 

"I suppose this young gentleman, though I confess dis- 
appointment in his years, and I had taken him for a pro- 
fessor in your college." 

"No," replied Dr. Cyriax, "he did not write it. He was 
a boy at the time, uneducated, working hard on a farm, 
and when weary from labor, at night, the power I call 
spirits, and you scoff at, came and wrote it through him. 
He had no library, no books even, nor access to any." 

"With a great 'ha! ha' Buchner said that was 'too 
good a joke!'" 

"Oh, no" said Mr. Teime, editor of the German paper, 
"it is every word true, and you must tell us how it is." 
Teime was a man of remarkable character, a materialist 
because circumstances held him there, but kindly to Spir- 
itualism. 

Dr. Biichner made no attempt at explanation, for he 
evidently preferred to think it a joke, but, during the 
dinner he turned to me and said: "If spirits do all this, 
what is spirit?" 



18 'A GOLDEN SHEAF 

I replied : "You claim matter is the foundation of every- 
thing and has within itself all possibilities, hence you 
should first tell us what matter is, then will I define spirit." 

As no one can define matter, as its ultimate component 
atoms exist by hypothesis, utterly unrecognized and un- 
recognizable by any of the senses, the listeners at once ap- 
preciated the dilemma of the Doctor and a broad German 
laugh followed by which he was greatly disconcerted. At 
the close of the banquet, he came behind my chair, and 
began a phrenological examination. He claimed to be 
an adept in the school of phrenology. He closed by curtly 
saying, "It is all here, right in his head, and there is no 
occasion for calling in the spirits." 

I began to feel the assurance of strength: The Spiritual 
side of my double life gained ascendancy, and there was 
no longer doubt and uncertainty. Although I was con- 
stantly engaged in exacting labor and business, I wrote 
during my spare hours, which are usually given to social 
recreation and repose. The second volume of the Arcana 
was my next volume, under the title of The Philosophy of 
Spirit and the Spirit World, Then followed Origin and 
Antiquity of Man, giving the latest results of Science. 
Two volumes followed. Career of the God-Idea, and Ca- 
reer of the Christ-Idea. Only a few copies were saved 
from the fire which destroyed the printing house with the 
books and plates. After more than thirty years these vol- 
umes, revised and enlarged, have been recently published 
under the title of Evolution of the God, and Christ-Ideas. 
Career of Religious Ideas and Ethics of Spiritualism were 
at first issued separately, and now in one volume entitled 
Religion of Man and Ethics of Science, makes one of the 
premium books offered by the Progressive Thinker. The 
Arcana of Spiritualism, unfortunately, was scarcely 
through the press when the half-finished volumes and the 
plates were destroyed by fire. It was re-published in Eng- 
land, and in 1904 the generous subscription of friends de- 
siring copies enabled me to bring out a revised and al- 
most re-written edition. Studies in the Outlying Fields 
of Psychic Science, and Mediumship, and Its Laws, com- 
pletes this series, which together form a presentation of the 
New Science of Spirit. 

In the meantime by different authors many tracts and 
stories were written. Among the stories may be mentioned 
Helloise: "Was It Religion or Love? The People Who 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 19 

Are Damned; The Secrets of the Convent; Heresy, or Led 
to the Light ; and The Log-Book of the Lucy Ann. Among 
the tracts, Eevivals, Their Cause and Cure; The Tiger- 
Claws of Theological Despotism, Spiritualism of the Bible ; 
What is Spiritualism ? 

The contributions to the liberal and spiritual press far 
exceeds in number of pages all of these books. 

Mine has been the task of an Amanuensis, writing that 
which has been given to me. I claim no honor except 
honestly and faithfully attempting to perform my part of 
the task. The field of inquiry is as vast as space and 
time, and often there are no words to describe the Spiritual 
realities and relations which hitherto have not been un- 
folded to mortal understanding. 

I have written in hours of pleasure and of pain; when 
life was a joy and when it was a weariness; but I have 
ever been cheered and sustained by the conciousness of the 
presence of the inspiring writers. 

Eegarding the biography of Mrs. Tuttle, we cannot do 
better than copy a sketch written some years ago by that 
accomplished literary woman, Mrs. Hester M. Poole, long 
connected with the Eeligio-Philosophical Journal, and 
contributor to many reform periodicals of the time. She 
is a personal friend, and unsolicited, obtained data from 
which she wrote the following pen picture, to which will 
be added the record of subsequent years. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF EMMA EOOD 
TUTTLE. 

By Hester M. Poole. 

The life of Emma Eood Tuttle is an excellent example 
of the laws of heredity and environment. Her maternal 
grandparents were sterling New Englanders of mobile 
French and solid Welsh stock, who were founders of a 
sensitive and impressible, yet hardy race. They removed 
to Braceville, Trumbull County, Ohio, early in the cen- 
tury, soon after their marriage, when such a journey was 
more formidable than circumnavigating the globe is at the 
present day. Here on the very farm where a happy child- 
hood was spent, her mother was married, and here Emma 



20 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

was born. Here, also, she, a happy child, grew up to 
beautiful, healthy and rounded womanhood. 

The recollection of those early days are a "joy forever^' 
to one reared as she was, in the noble, simple and af- 
fectionate atmosphere of home. Just across the street 
lived her grandparents, who made another home for the 
warm-hearted girl. Here the child nourished that love 
of nature which sings through all her poems. 

Happy the organization nourished amid such whole- 
some influences! 

The grandmother, tall, precise, intellectual, but loving; 
the grandfather, hearty, impulsive and cheery, — from both 
as well as from parents, were derived staunch and noble 
traits of character. The grandfather was a singer of songs, 
many of which were his own composition, and none who 
ever heard his magnetic voice can forget that music which 
was born in his very soul and which greatly aided to 
develop the love of it in Emma. He first inspired her 
with a taste for lyric poetry, and taught her to sing and 
play. She says: "No prima donna ever felt better satis- 
fied with herself than did I, when grandfather had taught 
me to sing and play, The Frog Who Would a Courting 
Go,' standing between his knees." Her mother was also a 
natural musician. 

Her earliest religious recollections are of going to church 
at Newton Falls, three miles distant, with these same 
grandparents. The church was built in a grove through 
which ran a bright river, with banks green to the water's 
edge, and here the earliest blue-bells and anemones of 
spring peeped up to smile at her who smiled back her 
love into their faces. They taught her lessons of natural 
poesy, which welled and throbbed in her gentle bosom. She 
can remember not a word or thought of the lesson taught 
inside the building, but in hours of weariness, memory 
flies back to those quiet hours spent between sermons, on 
that bright river brink. 

Her first impressions of religion were linked with na- 
ture's peace and beauty. This lesson has deepened with 
years, until God and His workers are indeed one, and wor- 
shiped together with far holier zeal than by those who 
cry for the crucifixion of all earthly pleasures, and re- 
gard with contempt all mundane loveliness. 

Her father was a naturally progressive man. He wel- 
comed with faith in the light of reason the "Divine Keve- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 21 

lations" of the young Poughkeepsie seer, and was ready to 
listen to the first rappings at Rochester, which were re- 
veille to the dawning of a new day. The daughter re- 
members his talking about the "knockings" with enthu- 
siastic interest, though to her they were full of ghostly 
interest. Shortly after she was sent to her first boarding 
school, at Twinsburg, Ohio. While there she heard a lec- 
ture on "spirit rappings,'' in which Professor White de- 
clared them to be the work of the toe joints of mediums, 
but her dearly loved father only laughed at this explanation. 
At this period Mr. and Mrs. Eood were members of the 
Methodist church, in which the mother was renowned for 
zeal and good works. Mr. Eood, from his progressive tenden- 
cies, became naturally a patron of the first lectures and cir- 
cles held in the interests of Spiritualism. Fearing for the 
welfare of his soul, the devoted wife made a compact that 
if he would continue attending church with her half the 
time, she would go with him to lectures and circles the 
remaining half. But the household soon again became 
united. The sensitive, impressional woman, always open 
to the truth, after going with her husband a half dozen 
times, not only became a convert to his belief, but an ex- 
cellent medium, and a happier soul never dwelt in mortal 
garb. Her pure, unselfish and devotional nature attracted 
the communion of similar spirits, and as long as she re- 
mained on earth, these were her closest and dearest com- 
panions. 

While these changes were occuring at home, Emma was 
at the Western Reserve Seminary, where, on account of 
her studious habits and early piety, she was considered a 
most promising pupil. But alas the new belief had crept 
into her father's family, and of course the maiden's soul 
must be jeopardized. Consequently not only the church, 
but the school faculty, began their labors for her welfare. 
But with^ all her gentle traits, Emma had inherited moral 
courage in a rare degree. Disgusted by their assertion 
that only a low class of people accepted the new light, 
and keenly feeling the insult offered her revered parents, 
she shortly after withdrew with them from the church. 
Its members seemed to regard her as a lamb gone astray 
from the fold, and after the first shock was over treated 
her kindly. But the lamb never returned. She found 
sweeter pastures and clearer waters in the new and broad- 
er fields. The school girl, now a matron, says; "I see a 



22 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

great change in that church. Last season, the same old 
building, elegantly refitted, was opened for my husband 
and myself to give an evening entertainment. He lec- 
tured and I assisted with dramatic readings, and dear old 
friends filled every seat from gallery to desk. During 
the evening I sang one of my inspirational songs, which 
was received with great applause. Twenty years ago they 
would have feared it, imagining a ghost behind every 
bar of music." 

Out of theological thralldom her soul swiftly expanded. 
At that time she received valuable assistance from a 
French lady. Madam Angelique Martin, the mother of the 
celebrated artist, Lily Martin Spenser. Madam Martin 
resided in Braceville, and was known as an infidel, and a 
believer in "the rights of woman," both terms of abhor- 
ence. Emma had always desired to enter the delightful 
home of this brave woman, but hitherto the atmosphere 
had been considered dangerous by Mrs. Eood. Now, 
however, the character of Mrs. Martin was estimated at 
its true value, and Emma began taking lessons in French, 
painting, and sketching from Nature, but she learned 
much more than these. With contagious enthusiasm, her 
teacher whirled the young girl over all the radical issues 
of the day, and the latter looks back with gratitude to 
the impressions then made in those long hours of con- 
verse, as well as for an insight into the laws of art, which 
has been a growing joy all her life. By its means through 
pencil and brush, she has been able to gladden friends 
and make home attractive. 

Those were days of great mental activity. At the age 
of seventeen she began writing for the press; among other 
things she contributed a series of articles for the Universe, 
published at Cleveland, Ohio, and also her first poems: 
for, all her life this imaginative, vivid soul had sung 
songs and dreamed dreams, and Nature was welling, pure 
and clear, with rhythmical impulse in her brain; some of 
these productions were afterward included in "Blossoms 
of Our Spring," jointly with those of Mr. Tuttle. 

Meanwhile she was called from school where her studies 
would soon have terminated, by the illness of her mother, 
who shortly after passed from this life, gently and beauti- 
fully as daylight fades away. It shows how steadfast and 
reliable was this eldest daughter, for the mother confided 
the care of the three younger children entirely to her, and 



'A OOLDEN SHEAF 2S 

one was but an infant. During several weeks Mrs. Rood 
seemed to dwell in the next sphere more than this; she 
saw beautiful landscapes in the Summerland ; she was 
daily visited by friends who had ascended there and dis- 
coursed with joy of the change awaiting her. Fully realiz- 
ing that she was not to enter the grave, that the next life 
was real home where the dear one dwelt; only the separa- 
tion from her family, a brief separation, gave her grief. 
Anxious to spare them from shock, she gently prepared 
them for the inevitable parting, telling of the bright home 
prepared for her, and assuring all of her guardianship 
and affection, and her certainty of helping them to lead 
pure, true and noble lives. What words can paint the 
preciousness of Spiritualism in the face of such a separa- 
tion? The dear Madonna of the household, so lovely in 
character that every one, far and near, looked upon her 
almost with a feeling of veneration, lay upon her death 
bed, and lo! the very heavens were opened and exalted 
intelligences annointed her eyes that they might see the 
glories of that radiant land, where there are no partings, 
while she translated the consolations into our poor, com- 
mon words! Her dear spirit gently breathed itself out 
of its wasted tenement without a sigh or flutter of an 
eyelid. 

At the funeral the daughter experienced her first posi- 
tive spirit control. As she was about to take a last look 
at the dear form, soon to be laid away forever, a terrible 
sinking faintness came over her which alarmed the friends. 
Out of this she was lifted by a strong magnetic influence 
of disembodied spirits, into an atmosphere of peace and 
strength, wherein she lived for two weeks; a period of 
exaltation, in which she was the comforter and supporter 
of the sorely stricken father who mourned inconsolably. 
Daily this young girl went about her duties with the 
light of the upper world crowning her brow,— -a light 
which sanctified and deepened her consecrated nature. It 
stamped her as one enlisted in the ministry of duty, and 
she wears its signet still. Talk not to her of idle luxury 
and self-gratification; the pathway she entered then at 
seventeen is pressed unfalteringly by her footsteps, un- 
tempted by shining ambition, undismayed by obstacles. 
Bravely her unaccustomed fingers took up the threads of 
life dropped from the deft, cold hands which had guided 
them all these years and "sister Emma" became the 



24 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

oracle of the saddened household. The sterling truthful- 
ness and conscientiousness of the mother became even 
deepened in the daughter who still continues "to guide, to 
comfort, to command" another household. Here began 
those lessons of self-help, which blossomed afterward in 
these lines: 



Blow back the veil from my face, oh, winds of the turbulent 
present ! 

I wish it aside though soft and protecting its tissues. 
'Tis best to see clear, if the weather be stormy or pleasant. 

Wide-eyed to face Life as she faces the soul with her issues. 

Ah ! I have passed on from the days when in weakness I trembled. 
And drew close my veil, when I knew that grim Danger was 
coming, 

Till through it mad fires only rose-colored blossoms resembled, 
And lulled, I walked onward, my gladsomest melodies humming. 

He only is brave, who is brave with an eye on his peril; 

And Ignorance knows not the meaning of victor or coward; 
She plays with red poppies, and circles her forehead so sterile; 

Albeit her couch with the poisonest night-shade is bowered. 

The years have gone by when the sweetness of weakness was 
sounded. 
When innocent Ignorance played with her sleepy white fingers, 
While Wisdom, star-crowned, lay neglected, unhonored and 
wounded. 
And Bigotry plaited the thorns for the world's knowledge 
bringers. 

We sense the salvation, at length, which is gained by compliance 
With reason and truth — never once by their dire crucifixion; 

They sanctify souls by a wise and devout self-reliance, 
Which springs up from growth and is fed by the dews of 
afifliction. 

Today is not good for long dreams among myrtles and roses! 

Mad vipers slip 'round where the fair blossoms smile in the 
grasses ! 
Some time will come safety and days of delicious reposes, 

When up all the future roll blisses in opulent masses. 

Her publications called out many letters from various 
sources, one of which was destined to mark an era in her 
life. She had heard of the author but supposed that he 
was an elderly man instead of being a little her senior. I 
cannot refrain from giving this characteristic letter in 
full: 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 25 

Berlin Heights, 0., Feb. 11, 1857. 
Miss Emma Eood. 

Esteemed Friend— Excuse the liberty I take in address- 
ing this note to you, but I do so to excuse myself for send- 
ing you a copy of "Life in the Spheres," which will reach 
you about the same time. I send it as a slight recompense 
for the pleasure your poetry in the "Universe" has given 
me, and if you have not already perused it, some pleasure 
may come back to you. Here on the farm my friends are 
few, though my acquaintances are many, and my pen 
supplies the place of tongue in conversing with those who 
are congenial. I often lecture in neighboring towns, but 
always return home with pleasure; it is so quiet and 
places one in such close contact with nature. Although 
there are many reformers here, they are as in most places, 
afraid of conservatism and can boast of little manly in- 
dependence. But we can bear slight persecutions when 
we know what the end will be. 

I know reform is sometimes destructive in its awaken- 
ing hours. It is like the avalanche rushing down the 
mountain side sweeping everything away in promiscuous 
rum. It then slowly melts sending a crystal stream mean- 
dering to the ocean, nourishing the flowers blushing on its 
banks, the strong trees, and countless forms of life. Though 
the commencement is rough and terrible, the end is peace- 
ful and lovely. 

But I have written, instead of an excuse, a little letter, 
spun out much longer than I intended. 

A letter from you would be acceptable. Truly, 

HUDSO]^ TUTTLE. 

So auspicious a beginning could have but one ending. 
On the 11th of the ensuing October Hudson Tuttle and 
Emma Rood were married and their united lives began 
on the farm where he was born, and which is still their 
pleasant home. How delightful to chronicle a union 
like this, where the family circle is the repository of the 
best elements of the coming civilization; whose broad 
sympathies ramify toward every righteous effort to ben- 
efit humanity; where inspiration, reverently recognized, 
is subject to the inspection of virtue and truth, and where 
husband and wife are peers in all good works of hand 
and brain. Such as they live not according to the laws 
of conformity, but to those divine ideas which are the 



26 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

only masters recognized by loyal souls. May many more 
nuptial torches, so faithfully upborne, help to usher in 
the morning of a brighter day than this. 

A great shadow darkened the hearthstone. Mrs. Tut- 
tle's sister, a member of the household, a beautiful girl 
of nineteen, loved by all who knew her, while away from 
home was stricken with fierce disease, and in a few hours 
passed to the "Land of sunshine and eternal spring." 
Out of this great grief crystallized the song set to music 
by the eminent Felix Schelling, which is included in this 
volume, "My Lost Darling.'^ 

The circumstances of Augusta's translation almost 
crushed the tender heart which had been as a mother to her, 
but angels became comforters. Day after day they gave per- 
sonal consolation, whispering messages of holy affection, 
directly to the sorely smitten soul, until its equilibrium 
was restored. Until now, that dear love and companion- 
ship continue to be little less real and palpable than be- 
fore she passed from earth. Generally, however, Mrs. 
Tuttle relies on her own unaided powers and believes in 
reason as well as intuition. The exquisitely sensitive and 
musical temperament which %ends under the weary and 
unimaginable weight of woe," that embitters existence 
and finds expression in minor strains, is yet capable of 
wholesome reaction as will be seen l3y contrasting her 
poems. 

With a strong sense of justice which is at the very 
root of conscientiousness, Mrs. Tuttle has a charity wide 
and deep as the sea, for the weak and erring. I wish 
there was space for some of her passionate expressions 
against wrong. In kindness to animals she is an ally of 
Mr. Angell. She says: "I will keep no help who will 
indulge in abuse to our dependents, and I have no faith 
in any professed religion which does not make people 
kind to the helpless. I do not wish to take the hand of 
any man or woman who will not be kind and tender to 
children and animals, and I should want a moderate pur- 
gatory made for such sinners, where they may be subject 
to such treatment as they have dealt." 

Many of Mrs. Tuttle's friends think her dramatic 
power exceeds any of her other attainments. She studied 
elocution under the instructions of Prof. Leonard, of 
Boston, and distinguished herself in her elocutionary en- 
tertainments by rendition of Shakespeare and Macaulay, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 27 

her presentation of Virginia being pronounced by critics 
to be one of the finest ever given to the public. She gives 
the poem, en custome, as if recited by a Roman matron 
in the Forum at a celebration there, seventy years after 
the tragic event. On the stage her commanding presence 
and fluent voice become merged in the character she takes, 
often one of her own creation. She has played star en- 
gagements through the West, and is frequently induced to 
give entertainments in her own and neighboring states, 
sometimes as accompaniment to her husband's lectures. 
But she repels all allurements which would take her from 
that home of which she is the cynosure. 

For many years both Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle took an active 
part in the work of the Grange, with the idea that the 
building up of such societies was of great benefit to the 
farming community. They were constant contributors 
to the agricultural press, especially to the Grange Bulletin. 



MRS. TUTTLE ADDS TO MRS. POOL'S VERY 
GENEROUS SKETCH. 

In matters social, religious and educational, I have ever 
been an eclectic, my ideal being to survey with toleration 
and without prejudice, all accessible systems and modes 
of thought, selecting and choosing to be a part of practical 
life, what is wholesome, broadening, elevating and capable 
of making good men and women on earth, as well as good 
spirits in Heaven. I have not been exclusively devoted 
to any one reform. I have aspired to be a light-bringer, 
believing wisdom and justice are the most important fac- 
tors in making the world more comfortable and its in- 
habitants more happy. The one church, one ism, one 
club, one society, one hobby people have never been per- 
fectly satisfied with me. But they will know by this sou- 
venir of our fiftieth marriage anniversary that I have had 
concentration, continuity and fidelity enough to suit the 
most exacting. 

Hygiene, Humane Education, the Progressive Lyceum 
system put out by Dr. Andrew Jackson Davis, have been 
my most engaging fields of work. You will find my ideas 
presented in this volume. 

I was always a worshiper of the goddess Hygeia and 



2S A GOLDEN SHEAF 

put my fervor into practice. When a child, "Emma is 
taking her air bath" would laughingly say my father, when 
I was rioting about clad with little drapery and a fresh 
breeze blowing through the open windows. I have special- 
ized teaching the laws of health in family, school and with 
my pen. 

I was born a humanitarian in touch with every life about 
me, and was ready for the work when I found where to 
locate myself. I became interested in the American Hu- 
mane Education Society, of which Mr. George T. Angell is 
president, and found it vast in scope and mighty in its in- 
fluence. I quickly set to work and have had the honor to 
be one of the vice-presidents of that organization for sev- 
eral years. I am proud of the association and the work is 
dear to my heart. My book, Angell Prize Contest Eecita- 
tions, and the prize medal which I designed, are advertised 
in every issue of Mr. AngelFs paper and the society has 
distributed thousands of copies of the recitations. In this 
field I have met soul to soul some of the rarest philan- 
thropists on earth. I have introduced humane work into 
our Lyceums and it has been cordially taken up. 

We were among the first to recognize the great excel- 
lence of Dr. A. J. Davis' plan for liberal, broad and har- 
monious juvenile education as presented in The Children's 
Progressive Lyceum. We had children of our own, and we 
saw the benefit to them and to all others who could avail 
themselves of the grand revelation. Assisted by some 
friend in Milan, Ohio, a town six miles distant from our 
home, we organized a Lyceum with about thirty mem- 
bers. For six years we were Conductor and Guardian, and 
were in attendance every session except two, during that 
time. The organization was very successful and reached a 
membership of over four hundred. It was while engaged 
in this work that the need of the Lyceum Guide was ap- 
parent and many of its songs, lessons and suggestions were 
composed expressly for use in the Milan Lyceum. This 
led to the production of the book, with the aid of which 
any one of ordinary intelligence can organize and conduct 
a Lyceum. It has passed through many editions. It is 
well adapted for the use of any liberal organization of 
adults and children, and is a text-book for individual de- 
velopment on all practical lines, and not for the narrower 
aim of making allies to any ism or sect. Self -development 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 29 

is the aim, and good men, women, and citizens the best 
result. 

My ideal for free thought Sunday meetings is societies 
on the Lyceum plan, where all members can take part in 
the exercises, learn to express themselves and make the 
meetings as improving intellectually, morally and spirit- 
ually as the capabilities of the members warrant, inviting 
outside talent if necessary. Such meetings are not a finan- 
cial burden on the members but are stimulating, improving 
and enjoyable. The English Lyceums have shown what 
can be done on this plan of society work. These are not 
the kind of meetings for lazy brains but those who would 
grow fast and strong ; who would be lifters instead of lean- 
ers will find nothing better. 

It is said that those writers are most pleasing who have 
no secrets. This book is a soul welcome to our friends, far 
and near, to come into our hearts and to read our lives 
as they have been and are. We have nothing to conceal 
and nothing dazzling to show you. We have lived as you 
have lived, joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, hopes 
and disappointments, gains and losses have made up the 
variations of these fifty years. So many things have hap- 
pened in the old home. 

Here it was that the Milan Lyceum Society came one 
Christmas eve to surprise us and give us a Christmas pres- 
ent. They came in with heaped baskets, pails of oysters 
and one big box the contents of which we did not see until 
later in the evening. We made them welcome and they 
took possession of the place. Oh the skill with which they 
kept us out of the way until they had placed on the table 
the best double dinner set of gold banded china. Then 
they escorted us in and awaited our surprise. They were 
more than rewarded. Hudson, in silence and expression- 
less, looked from one to the other. Then arousing to the 
occasion, he grasped my arm and whirling me around, ex- 
claimed, "Emma, something must be said !" 

In the parlor. Rose, our first fledgling, was married 
with gay festivity, in the midst of two hundred congratu- 
lating friends. The ^^orwalk band came nine miles to 
bring her a present and to be sure she had good music. 
Merry hearted Eose — she always had a large affair when 
she did anything, for every ne was ready to help her. 

In the same room two years after, our first grandchild, 
Emma Clair Crocker, who came with her parents to visit 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 31 

for the general good, of that which we receive from the 
common source/' 

In looking over the record of that red-letter day, we note 
the presence and congratulations of many friends who have 
left us for a higher sphere. They were dearest friends and 
stronger brothers. Judge Davidson said: "My congratu- 
lations and the hope alike for you and your many friends, 
many happy days.'' James G. Clark, the poet and ballad- 
singer: "I find it impossible for me to attend, but I as- 
sure you I have few friends in this world of mortals as 
near to me as you." The lamented Stainton-Moses wrote: 
"I shall be with you in spirit. May you live long to con- 
tinue in the sphere of usefulness you have made specially 
your own." Hon. A. E. Giles, true and gentle, said : "May 
this day be so warm and bright that its sunbeams will 
brighten and cheer the remainder of your lives." The em- 
inent jurist, G. W. Park, wrote : "Dear Tuttles, can it be 
possible a quarter of a century has gone by ? Business holds 
me but we are with you as ever." 

The sadness of a long life is to remain on the shore 
when so many dear to us sail away into the mists and dis- 
appear beyond the horizon. 

My literary work is as versatile as is my life. I name 
what is in book form : Blossoms of Our Spring ; Gazelle : A 
Tale of the Rebellion; Stories for Our Children; How Elvie 
Saved the Baby; The Lyceum Guide; Angell Prize Contest 
Recitations; From Soul to Soul; Asphodel Blooms, and un- 
collected are lectures, essays, poems and contributions to the 
journals advocating all wholesome advances. You may 
have heard some of them and some time you may see them. 

Fifty years ! How fair and far 
In the past the earliest are! 
Two youths with a sheaf of dreams, 
Guessing what a long life means, 
Knowing little, fearing naught, 
Taking what each new day brought, 
Eager for ideals sought. 

There were tangled, complex ways 
Eunning through the many days; 
Eighteen thousand, summing over 
Into hundreds, — Sometimes clover, 
Nettle-patches, thistles rough, 
Stress of storms, browbeaters tough, 
But for all courage enough! 



32 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Fifty years! We say, '^So long!'' 

When we note the human throng j 

But how short a time it is 

For creative mysteries. 

Worlds are born, grow, die, renew, 

Comets grandly sweep in view, 

None may watch their circuit through. 

Fifty years were almost nought 
When world-systems are outwrought. 
We, like worlds, shall forge ahead 
When our outer selves are dead. 
Linked unto all life are we 
Past, now, and eternally; — 
Unbooked possibility! 

We need neither reckon years, 
Putting limitations, fears. 
Beckoning catastrophies. 
Half dead to the good that is, 
Nor be wholly sensual. 
Keeping angelhood in thrall 
'Til we answer Death's last call. 

From the starting, in life's spring, 
To the gorgeous yellowing 
Of the Golden Wedding day 
Blessings hover all the way! 
We may take them from the clouds, 
They may rise from Hopes in shrouds j 
Things which gladden or distress 
May yield golden happiness. 



A CONJUGAL PHENOMENON. 

A lady and a gentleman among the upper ten 

Formed a conjugal attachment seeming utterly complete 

For the holy bonds of wedlock. They announced it to all men 
By a brilliant Boston wedding, where were bidden the elite, 

They were both most highly cultured, and their heads completely 
crammed 

With aesthetic education, such as may be gathered there. 
Ere the honeymoon was over they were properly programmed 

For the most unruflaed voyage that had happened anywhere. 

He was strong as polished iron, she was strong as polished steel ; 

Both were cargoed with opinions not to be infringed upon; 
Each was bound to give the other an entirely honest deal. 

And be buried close together when the days of Ufe were gone. 

He, a Liberal and Free Thinker, pledged to progress and the New ; 
She, a Baptist, staunch and loyal to the creed subscribed unto. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 33 

Two flags flew upon their frigate, ever equally in view, 

His read "Progress," upon yellow, hers ''Conservatism/' on 
blue. 

How they ever could have done it I will not essay to tell, 
But both held to their opinions, never giving up a point; 

It may seem truth warped to tell it, but they did not make a hell, 
Nor did love, their little Cupid, suffer, and get out of joint. 

When they died, the Baptist lady, robed for resurrection day. 
Was interred in formal fashion, in a lot all fair and wide ; 

When he died he was cremated, floating in blue smoke away, 
Save an urn of sacred ashes, which is buried by her side. 

Don't you think, if it should happen that the resurrection morn 
Were a thousand years in coming, with its dead-awakening cry, 
There would be as much confusion, when great Gabriel blows his 
horn. 
To collect the lady's body as her husband's? So think I. 

E. K. T. 



FOEGETTING SELF. 

The Golden Eule, of doing to others as you would have 
others do to you, has been said to be impractical, why, then, 
give a new and higher rule, Do all for others ? 

Because man is a spirit, and as such has infinite possibili- 
ties, and should constantly keep before him the highest 
ideal. He should endeavor to become as nearly as possible 
the ideal angel. 

Should an angel come to earth in spotless robes of purity, 
would it manifest supreme love for itself, placing itself first 
and claiming that it best served others, by gratifying its 
own selfish desires ? Would you not emphatically say such 
is not an angel of light, but of darkness? For angels of 
light think not of themselves but of others. Their pleasure 
in this high walk of moral perfectness is assisting others. 

They would seek those who mourn, the fallen and sin- 
ning. No wretchedness too squalid, no villainy too foul, 
that the angels would not bend to offer consolation and ex- 
tend a helping hand. They would comprehend the causes 
which led to shame and wretchedness. Would condemn the 
sin but not the sinner. 

Here is our ideal : Inasmuch as we help others we grow 
strong. When we bend to give a helping hand to the fallen 
we are ennobled. We have individual needs and must meet 



34 'A GOLDEN 8EEAF 

them for ourselves, but we should meet them as spiritual be- 
ings. Every one moves in his limited sphere; has his in- 
heritance of accumulated ancestral wrongs, misdeeds and 
errors; his motives, his reasons and causes for his actions, 
known only to himself, which none other can know. We 
think, unknowing these causes, motives and reasons, that 
were we thus placed we should do differently, when a mo- 
ment's reflection will assure us we would do exactly the 
same. Hence to judge rightly we must know all that lies 
back of those we judge; the hereditary history of their 
race and environments. 

By every judgment we make are we judged; every se- 
verity we inflict is returned to us; for scorn we receive 
scorn ; for vengeance, vengeance ; for hatred, hate. Throw 
out these influences and like the boomerang they return 
to strike you; not only return, but make you a target for 
others. 

There is only one attribute which goes forth always to 
return, bearing rich reward, and that is love. It is yield- 
ing as thinnest air, yet firm as adamant; it is gentle as 
the breath of the south wind, yet the strongest force in the 
universe; it looks backward as well as forward; reaches 
down to draw those below up to its vantage ground; 
reaches upward in its aspirations. It is like the sun, which 
constantly pours out its flood of light and energy, giving 
all without expectancy of return. This is the power which 
shall redeem the world. We all have need of it; we all 
stumble and fall at times, and are torn by thorns, and 
our feet bleed, pierced by the flinty pathway. We all need 
the charity of sympathizing angels and of our fellows; as 
in our strength we reach those beneath, in our weakness 
we pray for those above to extend from their sphere of 
light assistance to us. 

As we help, so shall we be helped ; as we draw others up, 
shall we ascend; as we do all for others^ shall all be done 
for us. 

Is this practical? Practicability is not a measure of 
truth. No one will dispute its practicability in a pure and 
unselfish condition of life, as among angels. How is this 
better state to be attained unless the principles which lie 
at its foundation are adopted? There is no impracticable 
truth, and the hero worship for those who lived for its 
highest interpretation shows the appreciation of mankind. 

One of the most ancient of Chinese sages, Lautsze, ut- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 35 

tered this doctrine : "The sage does not lay up treasures. 
The more he does for others the more he has of his own. 
The more he gives to others, the more he is increased." 
These are words of wisdom, for the more the sage teaches 
the more perfectly he understands his own doctrine and 
his own torch is not dimmed, though it light ten thousand 
others. 

Again, if you would know the real source of the mighty 
power exerted by the Christian Jesus in its last analysis, 
it is the ideal sacrifice made by him for the good of others ! 
It was far beyond the golden rule, and in the spirit of his 
saying: Forgive and ye shall be forgiven; give and it 
shall be given unto you. 

And this spirit of self-sacrifice is not a peculiar trait of 
an incarnate God; a hero, a martyr, a sage, but common 
to humanity. It is because it is a common heritage that 
self-sacrifice meets response in every heart. Even the 
brutes of the field and birds of the air give us lessons in 
heroic devotion. The tiger will defend its young till 
death. The robin patiently receives the storm while brood- 
ing its young and the lapwing risks its life leading the 
intruder away from its nest. The sympathetic dog dies 
in rescuing his master or follows to the grave- to remain 
till dead. 

How many thousands of patient toilers are at this pres- 
ent hour performing heroic deeds as great as were ever 
sung in song or told in story, whose names even will never 
be known ! Ten thousand sailors keep watch on heaving 
swells of ocean and guide the gigantic shuttles which 
weave the web of commerce around the world, with storm 
and cloud above and darkness around and beneath, through 
which the winds shriek and the wild waters rage. They 
go to their duty without a thought of heroism, when 
greater courage is required than to face the belching 
cannon, and when great occasion comes, in time of wreck 
or dire disaster, they rise to its supreme requirements, 
even to yielding life to rescue others. Such earnest souls 
watch from every life-saving station, ready at a moment's 
signal to wage unequal combat with wind and sea, forget- 
ting everything in the overmastery of devotion and duty. 

It is not expected of the soldier in the weary day's 
march to give his canteen to those who have been improvi- 
dent, yet the soldier wounded on the field of battle who 
gives his canteen to a suffering foeman while athirst him- 



36 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

self is idealized as a hero and eulogized in history. It is 
not expected that he who earns his bread shall give it to 
every passing beggar, but he who shares his crust with one 
in greater need, even if it be a hungry dog, at once awak- 
ens our sympathy and calls forth our praise. 



THOUGHTS ABOUT MY BODY. 

This body which my spirit wears, 
Expressing pleasures, tugging cares, 
Was brought together just for me — 
One atom of immensity. 

How variedly, and many times, 
In other lives, in other climes, 
On other worlds, far out in space, 
This matter may have had a place. 

It may have bloomed in unknown flowers, 
Or in some brain expressed man's powers; 
It may have planned and ordered wars, 
Or shone in undiscovered stars: 

JEons of years it may have wheeled 
From blooming climes to lands congealed, 
Living in structures manifold — 
Too many to be guessed or told. 

Each atom bounden in this frame, 
If it could tell from whence it came, 
And its strange history impart. 
Would shock the stoutest stoic's heart. 

When did its life and work begin? 
Where, all these ages, has it been? 
Cycling and changing, and will be 
Throughout matter's eternity. 

No rest — no locking it away 
From use — from action! Mortals play 
At such attempts — embalm, stone-seal, 
But strong law smites their puny zeal. 

What are a thousand, thousand years? 
What count our evanescent tears? 
We live, we grow, we die, we part — 
The world-old story of the heart. 

If stars sang words, that very song 
Would ring out as they wheel along, 
**We are evolved, we glow, we bloom, 
Grow old and die, disperse, resume j 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 37 

But never idly hang in space. 
We ne 'er have found a resting place 
Within this throbbing universe, 
We see the Now, we fear no worse. 

No discontentment ever stings; 
We do the work the Now-time brings; 
There is no better and no worse, 
In all the shifting universe." 

Think you the powers of Nature say, 
"A world is dead— lock it away! — 
Erect a monument to it, 
And mourn because it was unfit?" 

Not for one moment! It is changed. 
No law of progress is deranged. 
Slowly the ages push ahead 
To reconstruct the planets dead! 

So when our partnership is done, 
And we no longer work as one, 
My body, you must fall in line 
And carry on the vast design. 

But while in comradeship we stay, 
My body, give my soul fair play! 
Perfect thyself, and be complete. 
From brain-stocked head to willing feet. 

But when you die, and I swing free, 
A fraction of infinity, 
I Jcnow the things awaiting you; 
My soul's path lies not flush in view. 

Wisdom and will and power exist, 
And God is an economist. 
He must have ways I have not read 
How quickened souls survive the dead. 



E. R. T. 



THE OLD PIANO. 

I sit by the old piano. 

Petting its yellow keys. 
Hungry for soulful music, — 

Life's morning melodies. 
Skylarks, robins and thrushes, 

Out of the dreamy Junes, 
Fly, and 'light on my fingers 

Till the keys respond in tunes. 

I see, near the old piano. 
Sights from the yesterdays. 

My laddie is at his practice, 
His blonde head half a-craze. 



38 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Although he relinquished musie, 
Seizing life's sterner things, 

Years since, he returns in fancy, 
On childhood's gauzy wings. 

Pit-pat, 'round the old piano, 

A blue-eyed toddler goes. 
Trying to ''mate some moosic," 

Stretching up on her toes. 
Dear little lily blossom! 

Her feet did not journey far; 
She went to the Dream-Dear Country 

Where loving angels are. 

The old piano aided 

The ones who sang that day 
When baby took her journey 

To Paradise to stay. 
When Grandfather, and Grandma, 

Who cleared the woods away. 
And built the house it stands in. 

Had reached their burial day. 

The old piano trembled 

With every singer's tone, 
Eegretting that the aged ones 

Must seek the vast Unknown; 
Pre-empt another homestead, 

Begin another life. 
Forever leal and faithful. 

Still husband and still wife. 

It played the wedding marches 

When fledglings flew away. 
And quite enjoyed the ''Two Steps** 

And waltzes any day. 
I see the children whirling. 

In dreams, around the room; 
They romp, and dance, and kiss me, 

And vanish in the gloom! 

One fine composer used it 

In making songs galore; 
They hung about it, growing. 

Ere strong enough to soar. 
Then on the winds went charming 

The music-loving world, 
Who learn love's holy gospels 

From truths by song unfurled. 

Dear relic of the household, 
I could not from you part, 

The ones who have caressed you 
Were idols of my heart. 

The tendrils of affection 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 39 



Bind closely you and me, — 
Now, let us play a welcome 
To angel company! 



E. E. T. 



DO ANGELS HAVE SOEROWS. 

It was rose time; the hour twilight. I was out in the 
old-fashioned dooryard, sitting under my pet tree, a beau- 
tiful elm which my little boy had planted. My day had 
been a busy one. The world was full of beauty, but I had 
scarcely had time to look at it. Over by the arbor the old 
hundred-leaved rose bush swayed just then, and oh, the 
sweetness which came over to me ! 

"Another day gone and I haven't done half I intended 
to," I said. 

"Nor we," said the roses. "You are the first person 
we've been sure we blessed today. We did send you a gust 
of perfume." 

From the parlor came the soft tones of the piano, in 
response to the touch of a young dreamer; her name was 
Angela. I thought of Heaven — and then I shut my eyes 
to dream clearer about it — and then — I seemed to be 
there — among the angels, in the Land of Souls. "I won- 
der if they have sorrows," I said to myself. 

A group of immortals were talking together. They 
heard my words. They gave me welcome to join them — to 
rest, to exchange thoughts with them. How glad was I 
to do so, especially as I saw one most dear to me — lately 
gone from earth. Her eyes filled with tears, for at sight 
of me the memories of and longings for the old life came 
fresh upon her. She smiled through her grief and eagerly 
asked : "How fares my husband ? — and my boy ?" I told 
her all I could of them. 

"Do angels have sorrows?" you ask. "Let us exchange 
our thoughts frankly, as is our wont here. Then your 
query will have been answered." One, tall and intellectu- 
ally beautiful, spoke tenderly and reflectively. Her voice 
was full of tears. 

When I had my body, the angel said, 
Who dwelt in the land of the so-called dead, 
I should have done much that I did not do 
Ere the old, sweet life on the earth was through. 



40 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

There is so much now I would like to say- 
To those below in the sweet old way: 
There is so much sorrow and so much gloom 
Since they laid my body in the tomb. 

When I had my body, I counted not 
How intricate is transmitting thought 
Without the service of that true friend 
Which did my bidding its aid to lend. 

But now I wander unseen around, 
Unable to utter a single sound: 
I cannot say to the ones most dear, 
*'I yet can love you, and I am here," 

When I had my body, my hands could balm 
The pains and bruises to restful calm; 
My lips could warn, or give words of cheer. 
To guard and strengthen the friends most near. 

Long weeks go by, and I watch and wait 
To impart a thought of my changed estate. 
They turn to my portrait upon the wall. 
But they give no heed to my spirit call. 

They cannot hear, and they cannot see, 
And it seems so long ere they'll come to me. 
When I had my body, I counted not 
How intricate is transmitting thought. 

I long to speak them a word of cheer! 
I long to be seen by my loved ones dear; 
But their doubts shut down like a curtain black, 
And their hopeless grief bars my sad soul back. 

I knew she endured real sorrow, but I knew, too, it would 
vanish and "her own" would not always doubt ; some quiet 
hour she would stand revealed to them in the fullness of 
angelhood. 

I heard another voice ; one who had been a money gath- 
erer on earth. He had lived a long life — had amassed a 
fortune. His heart, when it ceased to beat, was almost as 
hard as a huge garnet. "I wish I had cared less for 
wealth," he said. "I am burdened with the memory of a 
sad tragedy; one word from me would have prevented it. 
I did not say it. I constantly hear children crying and a 
woman in rags weeping. I caused the death of the hus- 
band and father because I would not give him one more 
chance. 

"He was in my employ. He got drunk one night. I 
heard of it. I discharged him. It was in midwinter. He 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 41 

begged my forgiveness — said he would not drink again. 
His family must suffer if he was refused work. I said, 
*Go ! Starve ! The world will be better off without you !' 

"Did he believe it? He shrank away, feeling himself a 
worthless creature, and to save the expense of a rope to 
hang himself, or of a pistol to shoot himself, he jumped 
from the pier into the waters of Lake Erie. He left a 
note telling his wife what he was about to do, and telling 
her why. '^Don't try to recover my body. I've no clothes 
fit for the funeral. Good-by, Mary !' 

"Oh, if I could only handle the money I left! Mary 
would have a share. I saw the poor fellow once since I 
came. I wanted to tell him how I regret my cruelty, but 
he fled from me in wild speed. I felt his hate. That is 
one of my sorrows. It bites hard, and I fear it will bite 
long.^^ 

A beautiful girl, whose blond hair rippled to her knees 
and whose eyes were wells of affectionate intensity, threw 
from her hands the violets she had been caressing, clasped 
them in fervor against her heart and sighed, "Oh, if my 
heart-broken, crazy mother would only cease hunting the 
world for me and come here where I am ! I am living 
every hour in sorrow ! I can not die ! I am an immortal ! 
No balm can come except when mother dies and comes here 
to find me. I can not make her know," said angel Bessie. 

What was her sorrow ? It was the old, old story of mis- 
placed love, away back on earth. She had trusted too 
much. She was in deep trouble. She stole from her little 
room one night and went away secretly, hoping when she 
was out of her distracting complications she could come 
back to her home and mother. But she never emerged 
from the dark shadows of her love's inquisition except 
through death. Her sickness, her death, her extinction 
from mortal life were secrets which never escaped through 
the double brick walls of her death chamber. All the town 
of her birth and her mother ever knew was that Bessie was 
missing. No trace of her was ever found. Her mother 
hoped she would return. She watched for a letter, but 
nothing came. Finally she lost her reason and went search- 
ing the world for her lost girl. On foot she traveled, halt- 
ing often and calling, "Bessie! Bessie! Where are you, 
Bessie?" Then after listening she would move on, soon 
repeating her calls : "Bessie ! Where are you, Bessie ?" 

Could an angel in the heart of Paradise hear that plead- 



42 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

ing voice, see that grief-tortured, loving mother plodding 
through storm and shine in search of her invisible daughter 
and not feel the keenest sorrow ? This is a true story. Only- 
two years ago the aged mother went to the land of souls, 
where, I trust, the mystery is solved and the long torture 
ended. All the incidents were told so naturally in that con- 
ference of angels — no fear of censure — no effort to con- 
ceal — the immortals spoke soul to soul. 

Do angels have sorrows ? said one to the others listening. 
Let me recount a chapter in my experience. 

"I came up from merrie England. I was killed in a 
mine. Not very distant was a large estate, and the aristo- 
crat who owned it kept up an orphanage on it. Into this 
was taken my young son Willie. At the time I will tell 
you about he was 11 years old — a bright, loving lad; 
comely, too, with bright eyes and bright English roses on 
his cheeks. I had worked hard and fed him well. 

"One Sunday about twenty of the orphans were out in 
the sunshine and one espied a football lying on the grass. 
They all set to kicking it and bounced it about a little. For 
this violation of the holy Sabbath the lady of the hall, the 
wife of the squire who owned the orphanage, decided the 
children should all be whipped. So Sir Bouton Knight 
set out to see who should do the beating. His men refused, 
but there was one great fellow who was underwitted and 
was deaf and dumb. So he was ordered to flog the twenty 
orphans. He was made to know that he would be turned 
out of a home if he refused. He was ordered to bare the 
children to the flesh and give each one fourteen blows with 
a thorny whip. It was done, every stroke drawing blood, 
and the big brute who whipped could hear no cry — under- 
stood not a word of the children's appeals for mercy. Oh, 
then I longed for my body — for my strong arms, dead — 
but I could not protect my boy. I was only a spirit. The 
lady who ordered this thought she was serving God. God 
who puts frolic and buoyancy into children's hearts, Sun- 
days and all days.'' 

Years came and went; nine of them. Two weeks ago 
orphan Willie landed on the shores of America. A week 
ago he told me, with mortal lips, the story which his angel 
father had told when I visited Heaven's highlands. 

Yes, angels have their sorrows — and we may lighten 
them. We may help to do so by developing the goodness, 
the intelligence, the mercy, the forbearance, the justice of 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 43 

which mortals are susceptible, before they pass to the un- 
seen land. We may do it now — every day. 

Dickens, who was altruistic and a broad humanitarian, 
says: "Any Christian spirit, working kindly in its little 
sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too 
short for its vast means of usefulness. Business ! Mankind 
is my business. The common welfare is my business.'' 

To enlighten — to disenthral is our business, friends. 
There is a mountain of moral work to be done. It is our 
business to help do it. Unchaining and uplifting men and 
women is our business, and we have faith in our system 
of ethics. E, ^ T 

A HOMESICK ANGEL. 

She is harking on the highlands for a waft of news from home- 

For the voices of her children, romping with their dogs and toys' 

And the new dolls she dressed for them just before she slept to 

come 

To the heavenly, unseen country, with its sometimes lonesome 

joys. 

She is just a junior angel, crowded up before 'twas time. 

And she longed to stay and finish what her blessed head had 
planned. 
''Oh,»' she said, ''for me to leave them would be almost like a 
crime ; 
I must live to love and lead them!— God, oh. He muit under- 
stand ! ' ' 

She was talking of a dream-god, not a God of changeless laws, 
Who IS stable and unshifting, for His wisdom does not grow. 

And effects are sure to follow from each seen or unseen cause 
bometimes breaking human idols, sometimes laying mountains 
low. 

My soul telegraphs a message to her soul, unfleshed, who longs 

For the old loves and expressions, used here, in her yesterdays • 
bhe would catch responsive talking, and would hear the oft-suns 
songs * 

She took part in when a mortal, tripping through earth 's weed- 
edged ways. 

Darling, darling! hear my message! In your white home on the 
hill. 

All is well! vex not your spirit! We are doing as you would- 
We are loving you each moment, and are working out your will 

With devotion; this unchains you as no other labor could. 

Thus, dear homesick soul, we balm you: thus we free you from 
despair. "^ 

You have had your time of serving and may enter into peace; 



44 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Take your rights to joys celestial! Leave to us your weight of 
care, 
Trust us, dearest, still one with us; let your futile worrying 
cease. 

When you come to us, dear angel, you will often hear your name 
Woven in our conversation, for we never count you out. 

Just because we cannot see you; you are living on the same, 
Watchful, tender, interested, knowing all we set about. 

On the home wall hangs your portrait; in the album hides your 
face; 
All about are gifts you gave us, wrapped in fragrant memories ; 
What you said, the way you said it; oh, you always keep your 
place ! 
Aud our holiest inspiration is your love, which was and is. 

E. R. T. 



LOST PERSONALITY. 

Some pilgrims lose themselves on the blind journey 
All mortals undertake while flesh enthralled. 

And so completely seem they to have vanished 
We say, * ' A dead soul ! ' ' looking on appalled. 

We cannot find the treasures birth bequeathed them, 
The reasoning brain, the tender, loving heart, 

The well-planned methods, the successful struggles 
We call life's victories — head, tact, and art. 

Some, still, masked robber held up and demanded 

The personality, the mind, the whole; 
And human courage weakened, to deny him, 

But yielded mutely what the brigand stole. 

And none could find him; none could ask him questions, 
Nor challenge him to give the treasures back; 

He left his writhing victim changed, defrauded. 
And no sleuth hound could scent his hidden track. 

No law of nature had the brigand broken; 

In seeing one unfortunate, he saw 
A weakening, over-straining, unprotected. 

Well-minded man, who had not fathomed law. 

But, all unwittingly, had failed in guarding 
His own soul's temple — life unlocked the door, 

And in walked that masked robber to destroy it 
And vanish, with the sad word '* Nevermore. " 

Ah no, destroyer! Death thy power has broken; 

Thou only wrecked the body, not the soul. 
Death is a iiberator and a healer 

Who rives our chains, restores and makes us whole. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 45 

Tell the glad tidings! make the fettered feel it, 
No matter what the chains which cut and gall! 

Death is the friend who cries, ''Eenew their chances 
Try life in Heaven! The Earth-life is not all!" ' 

E. R. T. 



HAS SPIRITUALISM GIVEN A NEW THOUGHT 
TO THE WORLD? 

The opponents of Spiritualism constantly reiterate that 
Spiritualism has not, since its advent, given a single new 
idea to the world. It is probable that were it proven that 
it had given a new Bible the same assertion would be con- 
tinued with undiminished audacity. While it does not 
make the least difference as to the genuineness of the phil- 
osophy whether it be new or ancient, it may be well to 
show how utterly untrue the objection really is. 

The principles taught by modern Spiritualism as to the 
nature and power of spiritual beings is so distinct from 
those the world entertained before its advent that the entire 
system of psychology then taught has become obsolete. 

The old religion and psychology regarded spirits as un- 
subject to law, and their abode— heaven, hell, purgatory or 
paradise— as dreamland or a fog bank. There was no real- 
ity, no certainty. The best that could be said of spirits 
was that they were ghosts, coming and going like shadows, 
and haunting the scenes of their earth life, or like ghouls 
lingering in churchyards. 

In all the literature of the world, all profane, or the 
many sacred bibles, there is not one word of certainty or 
of law controlling the realm of spirit. Absolutely not one 
word. It was the domain of miracles and the setting aside 
of law and order. 

That spiritual beings are subject to law was first pub- 
lished m "The Philosophy of Spirit and the Spirit World,^' 
issued m 1860, claiming to have been written by spirits. 
The principle was clearly stated that spiritual beings hold 
the same relation to spiritual things that man holds to 

*v*''^*i,^PP^^^^ *^^* *^^ difleerence between the new conceptions of 
the character of spiritual beings and the old is not fully compre- 
.S t T^"" by those who have given the subject the niost 
thought. The difference is so great that one who has believed, or 
been educated in the old, must be brave, indeed, to advocate the 
new. 



46 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

physical; that law fixed and unchangeable rules in the 
spirit realm as it does in the world of matter. 

It marked the clearly defined distinction between the 
New and the Old. "Modern Spiritualism is distinguished 
from that of the past by the acceptance of the doctrine of 
law ; that the spirit realm is governed by laws as fixed and 
determinable as those which rule physical matter." 

Again, as to the origin of spiritual beings : The Bible is 
silent and speculation has been rife. Pre-existence has been 
a philosophical speculation, and miraculous creation the 
resort of religionists. The body went down to the grave, 
the spirit went into non-existence or "slept," and at the 
judgment day divine fiat brought the dust together and 
revived the spirit. Or the -spirit lingered in paradise or 
purgatory awaiting this great event, or wandered in the 
region of "outer darkness." Some speculators taught the 
basic statement that God made in the beginning a fixed 
number of spirits and these took on mortal bodies. They 
were reincarnated over and over. Their number never in- 
creased. One branch of the doctrine taught the yet more 
horrible transmigration through the forms of beasts. 

Spiritualism came with the fundamental statement that 
all spiritual beings had human origin, and that while evo- 
lution brought the lower forms of life up to man the won- 
derful process must not be thought to terminate with this 
high form. If so the whole process is purposeless and fails. 
While the aim of all the vast series of changes from low to 
higher throughout the countless ages has been to perfect a 
human being, the process has yet a higher purpose, for 
through man a spiritual entity is evolved, capable of carry- 
ing the cumulated attainments into a higher sphere of 
activity as an individualized being. Material evolution, 
with this added, has a purpose, and infinite continuance. 

Is not this thought, theory, as a statement of fact, new ? 

Again, as to heaven or hell, the abode of spirits : The 
only authoritative description is the New Jerusalem of the 
Bible; a golden, bejeweled affair that would not hold the 
arisen people of one small town ! There was no location 
for the world of spirits. It was a fancy and a dream; a 
veritable shadow world at space's uttermost confines. 

Spiritualism came with its statement, that as the worlds 
provided the homes for physical existence the spiritual was 
also provided for by vast zones or rings which enveloped 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 47 

them, formed of sublimated matter (substance) adapted to 
the nature of that spiritual existence. 

Recently it has been heralded, with great praise for the 
scientists who claim the discovery, that there is no distinc- 
tion between the cells of plants and animals. This discov- 
ery is said to rank next to evolution in its application. The 
Arcana of Nature was published in 1860, and written some 
time before. In it is the following passage : 'The cell com- 
bines the essence of all forms. Great are the distinctions 
between the oak and the bird caroling amidst the branches, 
the bee and the flower from which it sips nectar, but when 
we trace the widely separated chain of beings— vegetable 
and animal— downward, they meet and inextricably blend 
(m the cell).'' It is there contended that the first distinc- 
tion made by evolution was in the starting of these cell- 
growths in various directions, but they all combined the 
characteristics of plant and animal, which were not clearly 
separated until far more complex beings came into exis- 
tence. The Arcana unreservedly claimed to be the utter- 
ance of spirit intelligences. It was published before the 
work of Darwin on evolution, yet it makes that theory the 
foundation, nor pauses with that great naturalist at the 
coming of man, but continues on to the evolution of spirit 
through human development. As man is the crowning 
glory of nature, his spirit is the fruitage. All this inter- 
minable process has for its purpose the perfection of human 
beings, and, through them, evolving spiritual entities. 

In the beginning, when we lay down the fundamental 
statement that individualized spirits are creatures of law, 
originated and sustained by law, special creation by an out- 
side power or miracle becomes obsolete. Acceptance of the 
theory of advancement from the lowest to the highest; from 
the cell to man ; from savage man to civilized, carries with 
it as an axiomatic corrollary that all the dogmas founded 
on the opposite belief in man's creation in a perfect state, 
his fall and the scheme of his redemption, are fairy tales. 

With the ground thus swept clear of every vestige of 
past beliefs, we must lay the cornerstone of Spiritual Sci- 
ence on the known, and if we can not build the temple with 
the material furnished by science we can not build at all. 

In this manner it was proposed in the Arcana of Nature 
to build the New Spiritualism. To quote : "As we have 
endeavored to prove with the physical, the higher or 
spirit world must be based on and maintained by fixed, 



48 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

immutable laws ; hence the patient tracing of the material 
is but half the story, for the spirit animates the physical, 
leaves it, and continues its evolution in the sphere of infi- 
nite progress." 

These views of the origin, nature and destiny of spirits 
is as new and distinct from the old as the views of material 
scientists are different from the discarded theories of the 
alchemists and astrologers. 

The theory of vibration of thought is now received with 
increasing enthusiasm by scientific men. Thought trans- 
ference, hypnotism and nearly all psychic phenomena are 
explained by its aid. Sir William Crookes claims its dis- 
covery, on first presentation. It is a basic principle and 
holds the same relation to spiritual phenomena that gravi- 
tation does to material. In the above-mentioned book. The 
Philosophy of Spirit, the theory is fully stated and illus- 
trated by diagrams. It is further stated that there is a 
"thought ether," a spiritual atmosphere, which is termed by 
the spirit author "zoe-ether," as most distinctive, corre- 
sponding to the space ether of material science. In this zoe- 
ether a thinking mind sends out waves, as the transmitting 
instrument in wireless telegraphy does in the electric ether, 
and these waves are received by mind attuned and trans- 
muted into thought. Distance is not a factor in this proc- 
ess. This theory, published in 1860, and written some 
years before, is the source of all that has been since written 
on this subject, but the reader of the publications of the 
Psychic Eesearch Society and of those which embody it 
into psychological science, will find no mention of its 
spirit origin, it is an achievement of very distinguished 
scientists ! 

Of that infinite, never-solved question of God, his ex- 
istence and attributes, I think the enunciation of Spirit- 
ualism is clear and satisfactory. In the first volume of 
the book from which I have quoted matter was stated to 
be living. Eeviewers at the time held it up to ridicule. 
Especially do I remember the sneer of the sapient editor 
of the Independent, a paper supposed to be edited in 
Heaven. That idea of matter being "living" is now re- 
ceived by the ablest scientists. It is enlarged and devel- 
oped in the recent work "The Evolution of the God and 
Christ Ideas," leading to the following conclusion: 

"The universe, or, to use a more comprehensive term 
of the great Humboldt, the cosmos, is alive. It is more 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 49 

than a physical creation, it is a living organism. It is 
more, it is an embodiment of intelligent being. It is 
more than cosmic matter, it is cosmic matter vitalized by 
cosmic mind/' 

I am by no means nearing the end of what Spiritualism 
has presented, unquestionably new, yet one thing re- 
mains which, while not of such high moment in science, 
appeals with a thousand times greater force to every per- 
son who has a kindred soul over the Great Divide. 

Where in all the literature of the world will you find 
the statement that if the right conditions are furnished we 
can converse with our dead? You may instance the or- 
acles, the prophets, the occasional appearance of ghostly 
visitors; when on great occasions the god spoke or hero 
spirits returned, but the coming of our spirit-friends 
when bidden by the intensity of our thoughts for them; 
their response because they carry into their new life all 
that made them what they were in this — into a future a 
continuance of this life — that they love, cherish, care for 
and return to us, is not this all absolutely of the new philo- 
sophy of spirit? 

Of all these principles some struggling thoughts and 
foregleams may be found in the past, but as a whole, as a 
system of philosophy of life, here and hereafter, they make 
Spiritualism so absolutely a new creation that the old 
systems of psychology and ideas of spirit are obsolete. 



GIVE A PUSH. 

Herbert Spencer once made the remark to his friend 
Huxley : "One can not hope for much more than to make 
one's mark and die." Whereupon Huxley, with greater 
self-abnegation, responded: "Never mind about the mark; 
it is enough if one can give a push." 

Oil the wheels, and give a push! 

Send Truth's chariot ahead; 
Do not think about reward 

While you live, or when you're dead. 
Bravely abnegate yourself 

For the weal of all the rest; 
Be content to push and go. 

Having done your very best. 



50 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Push! and when the end comes, go, 

Though you exit, yet unknown, 
Satisfied you wrought for good 

If you only pushed alone. 
Though your dust repose unmarked; 

Though unglorified your deeds, 
Be self-pleased to have advanced 

Measures which the world most needs. 

There is always something good 

To be thankful for each day; 
We should not overlook our lamps 

Hunting great stars, far away. 
Natural, well-rounded lives, 

Kadiating happiness, 
Ought to be more coveted 

Than unrestful ones of stress. 

Many die in morning time, 

When ambition blooms the cheek, 
Fading, like a rootless flower. 

Useless, beautiful and weak. 
Oh, be thankful for the chance 

Which is yours to try your might; 
If you work to benefit 

You shall surely walk in light! 

Satisfying recompense. 

Broadening to head and soul, 
Is the will and power to push 

Onward to a holy goal. 
All the honor-marks of fame 

Years will soon eradicate. 
But the ones who give a push 

Onward, are the truly great. 



E. E. T. 



HIS LAST SONG. 



During the last illness of the actor and manager Frank 
L. Yerance, husband of Clair Tuttle Yerance, which 
terminated in death after a surgical operation at the Pres- 
byterian Hospital, New York, his mother made inquiry as 
to how he had passed the day. "Well/' they said, "he sang 
a song." 



Stricken with fatal illness. 

Forced to retire at last. 
In the hospital's soul-sad chillness 

He lay and dreamed of the past. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 61 

He thought of his high ambitions; 

His struggles to reach their goal, 
Of triumphs and sweet fruitions 

Till hope flamed up in his soul. 

His black eyes flashed from the pillow- 
As the old dreams floated by; 

Like a songbird perched on a willow, 
He rocked 'neath a sullen sky. 

Hope's blossoms, which glowed to languish. 
Bloomed flush as in days of yore; 

His thin lips, pallid from anguish. 
Parted to sing once more. 

A song, all a-tremble with feeling, 

Arose from the actor's bed. 
And on through the ward went pealing, 

Baptizing each weary head. 
A song all a-lilt with action, 

Catchy and full of fire, 
Eousing from base distraction. 

Floating the soul up higher. 

He finished and whispered, saying, 

*'0 mother! O brother! O wife! 
Far off in Ohio, praying 

Each hour that God spare my life; 
I never " The surgeons waiting 

Were ready with drug and thong. 
For the knife test, — not belating. 

He died, like his last sad song. 

E. R. T. 



MONTEZUMA. 

History records few names which combine with more 
touching experiences than that of Montezuma Emperor of 
the Aztecs. He was a strange union of strength and weak- 
ness, generosity and selfishness, beauty and deformity. An 
arrogant and exacting monarch, and yet a slave to his 
own hopeless fancies. 

In the year 1502 we see him a priest, engaged in the 
service of the national gods, meek and distrustful of his 
own abilities. From performing the bloody rite of human 
sacrifice he was placed upon the jeweled throne of the 
nation, which his father occupied before him; full of zeal 
for the good of his people and the favor of his gods. He 
worked and planned for the improvement of the city and 
the temples ; ornamented and rendered more comfortable a 



52 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

hospital for wounded soldiers ; caused water for the public 
use to be brought through a larger and better channel from 
the hill of Chapultepec and remunerated with liberality 
all who served him. 

Such acts of generosity began the career of the young 
Emperor. But they were followed by arrogance and splen- 
dor which seem almost fabulous. 

Not content with the palace of his father, he erected 
another more spacious. This building occupied an extent 
so great that a historian tells us there was ample room on 
its terraced roofs for thirty knights to run their coursers 
in a tourney. The interior was fitted up in a style of 
superlative magnificence. It abounded with splendid 
draperies, tapestries of feather work, rivaling the art of 
the East; odorous wood, ingeniously carved, and the fre- 
quent glitter of gold, silver and jewels of monstrous size 
and curious shape. The air in the principal apartments 
was dense with delicate and voluptuous perfumes. 

To the audience room none except Montezuma's own 
family were allowed to enter without first taking off their 
shoes and covering their rich clothes with a very coarse 
garment, such as was worn by the poorest subject. Here, 
with downcast eyes and menial air, they received the wishes 
of the prince. 

Adjoining the principal edifice were numerous others 
devoted to the amusement of the court. A menagerie, a 
collection of human monstrosities, an armory, a granary 
and an aviary filled with all the most beautiful birds of 
that tropical realm. The last alone was under the care of 
three hundred persons. Beautiful gardens spread around 
this pile of architecture, thickly planted with medicinal 
plants, shrubs and flowers. Crystal fountains bedewed the 
blossoms and moistened the fragrant air. Fishes sported 
in marble basins, and everything which ingenuity could 
devise conduced to the sensual enjoyment of the Aztec 
king. 

It was summer. The royal train were in that most lux- 
urious residence on the hill of Chapultepec. It stood in a 
westerly way from the capital and was laved by the lake of 
Tezcuco. Montezuma was self-reliant and haughty. He 
stood by a window, looking out on the finest landscape all 
Mexico could boast. Rich harvests stretched away to the 
horizon, speaking of plenty for his subjects, and rich trib- 
ute. His gardens extended far around, shaded by cypress 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 53 

and the glossy dark foliage of the myrtle, beneath which 
were here and there seen the Indian beauties which were 
attached to his harem — which numbered a thousand. 

Surely, he thought, as he contemplated his splendid pal- 
ace, numerous retinue and broad empire, there is none 
greater than I. Numberless warriors rally at my word. 
Cities and villages all over the land, from the Gulf of 
Mexico to Honduras, are proud to pour gifts and captives 
into my treasury. Even the gods love Montezuma, for do 
not fifty thousand human hearts smoke on their golden 
salvers annually. 

As he looked he saw a fleet messenger coming. Strange 
news he bears. Woe is upon the Montezumas ! 

The mesenger bears news of the arrival of strange 
white-faced men, who are gods in wisdom and power; who 
hold the thunder and the lightnings and have instruments 
of death more terrible than aught the Indian ever saw. 
Men who never grow tired — who ride upon terrific animals 
and know all things. 

The Emperor listened and said little, but his head bowed 
and his eyes grew mournful, as an old tale, handed down 
from many generations of the Aztecs, flashed across his 
mind : "The children of the gods had come to resume the 
government of their children — his people. Who else could 
they be ?" 

He talked not, but went to his solitary meal. The mat- 
ted floor was covered with hundreds of dishes, the finest 
ware of Cholulu. He seated himself on a cushion and the 
dishes he preferred were brought before him. The torches 
of resinous wood diffused sweet odor as his nobles served 
the meats, but they were not pleasing. Then came the 
sweetmeats and pastry, served by two graceful girls; but 
he ate little and, causing the exquisite screen which shield- 
ed him from the public gaze to be removed, he passed out 
from a banquet more varied than any king of the East 
could boast. 

He determined to send gifts to the strange men, to im- 
press them with his wealth and consequence, and, if pos- 
sible, to prevent them from visiting his capital. Splendid 
robes of feather work, jewels, clothes, grain and the famous 
dials of gold and silver which so astonished the avaricious 
Spaniards were dispatched to them. 

Anxiously he awaited the return of his embassy — the 
superstitious king. They came in due time, bearing pres- 



54 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

ents and thanks for his magnificent gifts, and a word that 
the strange men could not forbear from paying so power- 
ful a prince a visit at his capital. It seems that Monte- 
zuma had an intuitive knowledge of their superiority of 
race and feared to meet them. He was peerless — could he 
help wishing to remain so? 

When they came, with as much pomp as the band of 
bold adventurers could command, Cortez, dressed with 
much taste and riding a furious warhorse, an animal which 
Montezuma had never seen before, he, as most became him, 
acted the part of a generous host, and went out to meet 
the sons of the gods, as he deemed them. 

The morning broke with all the luster of tropical gran- 
deur. The perpetual flames on the altars of the countless 
trocullis had burned with unwonted brightness through 
the gray mist of the dawning. Many sacrifices had been 
made of late. The priests were very devout and victims 
abundant. Today the guests are expected and Montezuma 
and his retinue are departing to meet and welcome them. 
Look through the dust and decay of four hundred years 
at the barbaric pomp ! The train winds its way along the 
principal streets of Mexico. Officers of state, holding 
golden wands, are followed by a crowd of nobles, amidst 
which the palanquin of Montezuma blazed like a golden 
sunset. Over it was a canopy of feather work which had 
robbed the brightest birds of their plumage and employed 
the fingers of the monarch's many wives to perfect it. It 
was powdered with jewels and frosted with silver. The 
bearers of this precious freight walked slow and reverently, 
as mortals do in waiting on the most high. 

See ! The train has stopped. Montezuma is descending 
from the palanquin, leaning on his attendants. He ad- 
vances. He wears a cloak and girdle bright with exquisite 
embroidery. Even his sandals are glittering with previous 
stones, and his cloak looks as if it had been cut from the 
shining Cygni. In his under lip is a strange jewel. It is 
in the form of a bell, of emerald, with a tiny pearl attached 
to a gold chain for a tongue and a rim of gold around its 
base. It is one of the five jewels which Cortez gave to his 
young wife after the conquest and which caused jealousy 
in the bosom of the wife of the King because they were not 
presented to her. Upon his head a crest of green plumes, 
falling gracefully down his back, is waving in the breeze. 

"Halt !" runs along the lines of the Spanish army. Cor- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 55 

tez gives his rein to a page and dismounts. In a moment 
the great prince and the man which his oracles so loner had 
loretold, stood face to face. Emotions do not always array 
themselves on the face. It is well they do not. Monte- 
zuma's appearance would scarcely have been regal if all his 
fears and anxieties had been seen in his features. 

He expressed his pleasure at seeing the children of the 
great Emperor, of whom they all were subjects, and at 
welcoming them to his capital. He would have them con- 

t" ?^ l"" ^'' ^^*^'^'" ' P^^^^® ^0^ tl^eir barracks and they 
should have everything the land offered for their comfort 
I he monarch s whole brain seemed to center on benevo- 
lence, and the Spaniards were receptivity personated Mon- 
tezuma was a princely host. 

He entered his litter and was again borne off amidst 
prostrate crowds and soon followed by the Spaniards, with 
colors flying and music playing, past comfortable dwell- 
ings, palaces, parterres of flowers, markets, temples, back to 
tne palace. 

Again we see him in his nobleness. In the courtyard of 
his father s palace, solicitous for the comfort of the men- 
men who awed but to subdue, and won his confidence but 
to plunder him of his kingdom. His delicate consideration 
inspires with admiration. He furnished dresses for every 
one of them, even the six thousand Thuscalan allies, who 
were the deadly enemies of the Aztecs; sent servants to 
wait on them and did everything which a spirit of kind- 
ness could devise. The visitors not only grew more auda- 
cious m their designs, but professed unbounded admira- 
tion for Montezuma and his city. They wished to visit 
him m his own palace. He gives a ready consent. 

Cortez, attended by some of his cavaliers, goes to the 
palace, and after an interview returns with Montezuma! 

What miracle has been wrought now? A monarch, 
mighty, austere, exacting, is going from the seat of his 
splendor to be a hostage for a small band of forei^ sol- 
diers m their barracks. ^ 

h.^yf\ T^'^K^t^} '''' *^^ ^^^' ^^ Montezuma through the 
beautiful lips of Marina, Cortez's interpreter, but a crush- 
ing sense of a foul reality fell on his soul 'and began to 
show itself on his face, as we see it in his pictures. He felt 
the wrong but was mute. His people murmured : 
Why this insult? Where is our Emperor^'' 
He exerted his power to quiet them; told them he was 



56 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

only visiting at his pleasure. He should return again to 
his palace as soon as his guests went. 

Never, great Montezuma! The day of thy greatness is 
sinking into the black night. Though the bells in every 
trocullis ring out in the gathering darkness and the altar 
fires glow bright, and unblemished victims groan and 
writhe on the rock of porphyry, all can not save thee. Thy 
gods can not cope with the strategy of the Spaniard. 

What horror is being enacted beneath this warm sky? 
Eagots, cords, victims! 

All are to be etherealized — made up into a cloud to 
grace yon azure ! 

Those men are thy friends, Montezuma — thy friends! 
and thou hast sealed their terrible fate. While they burn 
thou art in chains. Chains above those jeweled sandals! 
Chains under thy regal vest around thy soul ! How fast 
they tighten ! "What is this strange drama ?" 

These men have obeyed Montezuma's orders, but in do- 
ing so have displeased the banditti Spaniards. Hence he 
is made to sentence them to burning for executing the or- 
ders, and the prince is put in irons for having given it. 

Weeks and months passed. The proud Aztecs were not 
suited to bear so much outrage. They had placed another 
king on the vacant throne, and were rising to avenge them- 
selves and to rescue Montezuma the Second. 

The captive sits where he can look out on the tumult. 
He is sullen and sad. All around his father's palace a sea 
of painted warriors and waving plumes meets his eyes. 
What unconquerable earnestness in their uncouth gestures. 
The battle commences. The thunders of cannon and mus- 
ketry reply to showers of stones and arrows. All day they 
fight, until night comes down and broods all under her 
maternal wing. With the dawn again commences the 
struggle. Will they never cease or the Spanish never yield ? 

Hush ! A calm broods over the wild tide of rage ; bran- 
dishing arms fall. All eyes are turned toward a sightly 
place on the palace. 

There stands Montezuma— arrayed in his royal robes, 
his blue and white cloak clasped with an emerald and his 
crest of green plumes sweeping down on the disturbed air. 
All his wonted self-respect has come back to him. He feels 
himself a king again, as he sees the awe-struck faces of his 
devoted subjects looking so confidently at him. The golden 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 57 

wand is swayed and the voice of Montezuma goes forth for 
the last time to his people. 

"Why are my people here in arms against the palace of 
my father? Do you think me captive, and so have come 
to rescue me ? If so, you do right. But you are mistaken. 
I only stay with my friends because I wish to stay. They 
are not hostile, but wish to depart, if you will allow them 
to, and then I shall return to my palace. Go home and 
lay down your arms." 

The grim visages grow terrible with rage. They hiss, 
taunt and scorn him, and in their fury a shower of mis- 
siles fly at him. He falls senseless and is borne away. 

When his consciousness returns a full sense of his dis- 
grace and misery bursts upon him. There is no more but 
death ! His wounds were distressing, but he tore his band- 
ages off and would not let them heal. He would not live 
robbed of all but mere animal existence. He talked little, 
except to beseech his destroyers, in remembrance of his 
kindness to them, to shield his children from cruelty and 
death. 

He died unreproachful — grand, among those who had so 
cruelly destroyed him, and now even the race of Monte- 
zuma has long since departed. E. R. T. 



FLORIDA VIOLETS. 

Christmas, among the gifts sent us were five little blue 
violets in a letter by Miss Lue Ott, who has made a home 
for herself in Florida. We wrapped them in some bits of 
rhyme, and here they are : 

Five blue little blossoms have come from the South! 

From their frail paper-car I remove them. 
Because 'twas for me that they died in their youth, 

I take them, and kiss them, and love them. 

I am glad the sweet things did not travel awake, 
But came through in a little white ''sleeper." 

Locked in from the sight of a single snowflake, 
By one who was once their fond keeper. 

She watched them push up from the soil to the sun, 

With pretty green mantles about them. 
Ah! they were as joys in her life, every one. 

And what were her garden without them? 



58 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

How heavenly they grew, and how spirituelle, 

In the shade where the love-dreamers sought them, 

Whene'er they had something exquisite to tell, 
After Cupid had meshed them, and caught them. 

'Tis a sad thing to think of, my Florida flowers. 
That for me your slim stems were love-broken. 

And you exiled far from your own leafy bowers 
To be to me Friendship's fair token. 

You lie on the top of your little white car. 
As still as dead beauties e'er could be! 

1^11 twine you so gently my touch cannot mar. 
And lay you in rhymes, where you should be. 

E. E. T. 



A LITTLE DRESSED-UP LIE. 

**This one went out for Truth, like a hero, and at last he 
secured a little Dressed-up Lie. He called it his marriage." — 
Neitzsche. 

Young Fitzhugh had grown up to manhood, 

Had passed through two sunny decades, 
Evolving his physique and manners, 

Assisted by all modern aids. 
No blemish on mind or on body. 

No vices to tarnish his life. 
But ready to live and be useful. 

Provided he found the right wife. 

O, where might he find the rich treasure? 

Ideally noble and rare — 
A bundle of feminine virtues, 

Eesponsive and loving and fair. 
Where? Many were listlessly waiting. 

Gowned and booted to suit the Queen's taste. 
On tip-toe to see some one coming, 

With good time and money to waste! 

*'To the opera, Fitzhugh?" "Why, surely!" 

* ' O, dear, I am just music-mad ! ' ' 
Her big hat was heavy with songbirds, 

Shot dead, for Dame Fashion's rude fad. 
*'0, Fitzhugh, I'm so tender hearted, 

I scarcely can live on at all! — 
That man in the play did shoot wicked! — 

That's good, when somebody must fall." 

''O, look at that shivering newsboy, 

The poor little product of sin! 
My, oh! but it's nice to have money 

And warm furs to snuggle up in! 
I wish one need never see poor folk, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 59 

It sort of rebukes rich ones so! — 
But one can't be giving and giving 

And keep up our style — don 't you know ? ' ' 

"I pity the needy, but, oh! dear, 

They're used to their hard lives, I guess. 
Of course they don't care to look lovely. 

For they can't go to places to dress. 
I couldn't live so. I'm so tender; 

I guess I should curl up and die. 
Now, isn't it dreadful to be so? — 

There, there, dear, you needn't reply." 

"Fitzhugh, if I ever should marry 

I wouldn't flirt ever again! 
I know I should worship my husband 

And hate all the rest of the men — 
I'm just that sincere!" And he thought so. 

Alas! she was made of poor paste! 
Just a little dressed lie of a woman — 

A sample of matter misplaced. 

E. E. T. 



LIFE AND DEATH — AN ALLEGOKY. 



Life sat by the shore of an infinite sea. 

Beautiful as a dream, her veins pulsating with power, 
her cheeks flushed as with sunset and her eyes dark as the 
midnight sky lit by beaming stars. 

She had paused from her labor, having wrought with 
the elements and peopled the earth and sea with living 
beings, and with satisfaction she viewed the result. 

"What a world is this!" she exclaimed, "to which I 
came in its primeval time ! Bare and blasted rocks laved 
by dark waves and overspread with a threatening sky. The 
wailing winds, the moaning sea, the rolling thunder, the 
rumbling jar of the earthquake were the sullen language 
of the elements. It was an earth in black and gray, and 
the only color was that of the rainbow when it hung like a 
gigantic blossom on the brow of the storm. 

"Behold the change !" She extended her arms toward 
the sea and the land, with undulating grace of freedom, and 
energy. "The change! In every wave which sparkles; in 
the light are creatures I have fashioned into form in 



60 'A GOLDEN SHEAF 

accord with the wave lines of motion, and endowed with an 
individuality which makes them in their spheres creators 
of their own destiny. From the monad which floats invis- 
ible in a fleck of spray, to the leviathan that stretches his 
huge length from wave to wave I have by my mysterious 
alchemy conferred the power of individual sustenance, of 
motion, of consciousness. 

"All the coasts I have by the shower and the sunshine 
carpeted with exuberant vegetation, which extends down 
beneath the seas, and he who can count the endless forms 
of being I have wrought, feeding on the herbage, could as 
well count the stars. The tiny insect, the mastodon and 
the bird whom I gave form in harmony with the atmos- 
phere, and wings, every feather beaten into form and fit- 
ness by the air itself, are incidents of my labor. 

"Out of all and above all, the crowning glory of my 
work, in which I concentrated all that had gone before, I 
created a race more richly endowed and admirably 
equipped, for I profited by experience, and as I gathered 
the forces of the elements into the living individuality, so 
in this last effort I concentrated intelligence, the manifes- 
tation of which in Nature is called God. Hence this race 
more than any other portion of my work is endowed with 
conscious purpose and independence which makes them 
creators." 

As she paused there came hand-in-hand, walking along 
the shore, smooth with the receding tide, two beings of the 
highest type, their beauty even exceeding her own, for 
there was a touch of materiality which she had not; of 
brawn and strength in the man, of grace and wave-like 
symmetry in the woman. 

They sat down by the side of Life, and the man crowned 
the woman with a chaplet he wove from the amethyst moss 
of the sea, and she sang a song of joy to which the waves 
beating at their feet kept time in a droning monody. 

And as they thus engaged Life laid her hands with 
proud benediction on their heads and said softly : "I will 
give you each a name by which you shall be known to all 
time. I will call you, my son, Manu, for it is your high 
privilege to know, and my daughter will I call Mai, for 
she shall be my royal handmaid." 

"Thy handmaid?" responded Mai in tones of doubt, 
mingled with gladness. "Is it for me to assist you, infinite 
mother?" 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 61 

"Even to do more than I, for without you the plan of 
creatioD would miserably fail.'^ 
"I do not understand.'^ 

"Nay ! It is better you do not, but the time will come 
when it will be made plain. Wisely the future is impene- 
trable, else you would grow weak in expectation of its bur- 
dens.'' 

There fell a dark shadow and out of it appeared a spec- 
ter such as Life had not created, endowed with equal ener- 
gies apparently superior to hers. His visage was relent- 
less and there was no love in his cold gray e3^es. 

Life shrank from the specter, so unlike herself, and with 
repellent gesture sought to screen her children. 

"Why come you, infernal shadow, between me and the 
light?" she exclaimed. 

Then the ogre spoke in tones hard and monotonous : "I 
alone am not of your creation. I am your equal. You are 
the positive force of creation, I the negative ; you are the 
light, I the darkness; you the day, I the night; you the 
creator, I the destroyer; you breathe the breath of joy into 
nature, I the blight of decay. Whatever you build up it is 
mine to tear down. Your monads I will rend with other 
monads. Your leviathan, stretching from wave to wave, I 
will disintegrate and resolve to elemental dust. The forms 
you have wrought to glide through the flood I will feed to 
the maw of other forms; the birds wrought out of the 
forces of the air I will destroy with stronger wings, which, 
m turn, will melt not into the distant sky but into the 
dissolving waves. N'othing you have created shall remain, 
for as your name is Life mine is Death !" 

Life smiled on this vain boast and said : "My work is 
better than you list, for though the individual falls by your 
shafts the race lives on, and the more you overthrow the 
more will spring into existence, and though vou mercilesslv 
slay they will increase, for they are my children, a part of 
me and indestructible as the attraction of worlds.'' 

"Ha, ha !" laughed the ogre, "we shall see ! we shall see ! 
Was there ever a mountain not leveled? Ever a sea not 
filled up ? Ever a force not expended ? I, too, am a being 
wrought from infinite forces, and know you that nothing 
can be created that can not be destroyed. So, my dear 
Sister Life, my twin sister, do your best, for your best will 
be as pleasant pastime for my destruction." 



62 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

With that he extended his vampire wings and flew over 
the sea, away to the purple rim of the horizon. 

When he had vanished from sight Mai, pale and breath- 
less, looked up appealingly to the face of Life and cried: 
"Oh, mother, why shrank you from that being? Is he 
stronger than you ? Can he destroy all you can create ?" 

Then Manu, with a great fear in his voice, said : "Can 
he destroy this dear creature by my side? How, oh, how, 
will he do this? I will defend her with my strength. I 
will hold him away as I would a strong beast.'^ 

Life knew that the words of the ogre were true and that 
he had power over all physical creations, and not a word of 
comfort could she give her sad children, until it came to 
her as an inspiration that over individualized spiritual 
existence death had no power. Had she reached that crown- 
ing glory? Had her labor brought this fruition? Was 
the arch of life and consciousness completed, that it would 
not fall in ruin at the dissolution of the elemental body 
which evolved and gave it expression? Her children did 
not know ; they could not know until the crucial test. 

She knew, and with a brightness born of knowledge 
she replied to the supplication of the woman and defiance 
of the man : 

"Sip the nectar of the flowers today, laugh with joy in 
its sunshine and abide in faith that tomorrow will bring 
the same.^' 

II. 

Manu and Mai dwelt in a beautiful grove by the shore 
of the sea. The perfect climate gave a constant June. 
Flowers everywhere festooned bush and tree, burdening the 
air with fragrance. Luscious fruits blushed on low-bend- 
ing boughs. They made long excursions up the mountain 
sides, listened to the song birds ; and along the shore, filled 
with wonder and constant surprise at the strange forms 
thrown up in the wrack of the sea. They waded, sporting 
like children that they were, calling each other sweet epi- 
thets, and he repeated to her, each time, as though he had 
made a discovery, that her laugh was more musical than 
the sweetest note of the song birds. 

Thus passed days and days, without change, except from 
joy to joy; the full possession of each other; the being of 
all in all to each other, yet there came an unrest ; a crying 
of their hearts for something more. The most delicate 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 63 

twilight on the restful waters and the droning of the waves 
no longer brought sleep and rest. They had companion- 
ship of animals which knew no fear of them. The deer 
came bounding to their call and ate from their hands, and 
the apes, fantastic caricatures of humanity, gathered 
around them in chattering groups. Even the mastodon 
crushing through the tangled herbage stretched out his 
trunk for the proffered fruit. 

Can days in human life be too bright and thus surfeit 
with their joy ? Is it necessary that there be tornadoes that 
we appreciate the sunshine? Can the stream of life run 
so smoothly that it palls ? They wandered aimlessly along 
the shore or sat on the drift in discontented silence. 

On the infinite expanse nothing had ever appeared to 
them but the white crests of waves, which ofttimes con- 
verted the emerald meadows into banks of snowy flowers, 
and hence their interest was awakened by an object which 
rapidly approached them. As it drew near they saw it was 
a tiny boat, shaped like a shell, white as pearl, and at its 
helm, holding its silken sail was Love. 

They met it as it was driven high on the strand and Love 
sprang lightly to their side. He parted the soft canopy, 
and there, nestling in a bed of snowy down was an infant 
which opened its wondering eyes and stretched its hands to 
Mai. Her heart beat fast and her being thrilled with 
unknown delight as Love placed the tiny form in her arms. 
She pressed it to her bosom murmuring sweet words, and 
gave it many a dainty kiss. 

^^Oh, that it were mine !" she cried, "for this is the treas- 
ure that I have longed for !" 

"It is yours," replied Love. "I bring it to you at the 
command of Life, who knows the wants of her children 
better than they know themselves." 

"It is sweeter than a dream ! Out of the depths of the 
infinite sea she has come to us, and hence will I name her 
Pearl." 

"That shall be her name," replied Manu, "yet better 
were your own, for she resembles you." 

"I see only resemblance to you," she responded. 

"The mouth is yours." 

"And yours the eyes, which seem to look beyond into 
unseen things." 

"A blending of us both ! We could not wish for more !" 
she laughingly exclaimed. 



64 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Then Manu took up the shell-like boat, saying : "In this 
silken couch we can place her and when we rock her to 
sleep it will be as the motion of the waves." 

Mai held close the babe and sang lullaby songs, nor could 
she take her eyes away from feasting on its loveliness. 
When it awoke she would have it quickly sleep, and when 
it slept she was seized with fear lest it would not awake. 
She gently laid it in the sea-cradle and rocked it as she 



Softly the shadows are falling, 
Gently the wavelets are calling; 
Sleep, babe, sleep! 

As she grew day by day, from the helplessness which 
could only smile and stretch its hands, to the child with 
strength of body and will to think and do, her unfoldment 
was a constant series of surprises. How wonderful the 
rosebud expands into the full-blown flower ! More won- 
derful the development of the child. They were startled 
by her first articulated work, expressive of thought awak- 
ening and striving for expression. The touch of her velvet 
hands was magnetic, her slightest wish was an imperative 
demand. She learned to walk, and her feet seemed never 
weary. They led her to the shore, as she was delighted 
with the scene, and would sit as one entranced, expectant of 
the coming of a holy messenger. Her eyes would follow 
wistfully the white gulls on their tireless wings, spirits of 
the waves, and she would answer their shrill cries coming 
from afar. < 

One evening as the moon arose out of the sparkling 
waves, and a path of light lay undulating far to the 
horizon, she eagerly stretched out her arms and cried: 
"Oo give it to me?" 

"I would give you the moon and the world with it," re- 
plied Manu, taking her in his arms and holding her up as 
though she could take hold of it, "but I can not." 

She reached as far as she could and cried : "I will have 
it !" and, not being gratified, began to sob. 

Years thereafter they recalled the scene and the words 
she said with a sad pleasure that cut their hearts with pain. 

"It is a hard lesson," said Mai, "we have given her every- 
thing, and now we are helpless to satisfy her. The more 
we have the more we want, and we swiftly reach the limits 
where our desires are attainable." 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 65 

How by her coming had she molded them into perfect 
oneness, and changed their selfishness into helpfulness for 
others. Although no wish was ungratified, they did not 
find the highest happiness in the self -absorbing state. The 
purest pleasure comes from assisting others, even to doing 
all for others, which is the highest rule of righteousness. 

Pearl became more and more in appearance suggestive 
of her name, translucently fair, and her dreamy eyes more 
expectant. 

"I am in constant fear," said Mai, as they sat one day 
in the porch hung with trailing vines. 

"Why, and what fear you," asked Manu. 

"That the Messenger come for her. You well know that 
she may be demanded of us, and if she were my heart would 
break." 

"You are becoming too much absorbed, my Mai. Pearl 
was brought to us by Love, who can not, if he would, take 
her away. He abides with us, and would not cause us a 
single pang. For love is like the sun, it gives all and 
receives no return. It throws out its flood of warmth and 
is warmed thereby." 

"I know not why it is," replied Mai, "yet there is a 
shadow between me and the sun." 

Pearl came and begged to lie in her arms. Her brow 
was paler than usual, and a bright flush tinged her cheeks. 
Once in that haven she closed her eyes and said, "I's so 
tired!" 

What smote the heart of Mai until it fluttered as a fright- 
ened bird? Instinctively she saw a change — the shadow 
of danger to the child. She whispered her name without 
gaining response. She caressed her shining hair. So still 
Pearl lay in sleep ! Oh, was it sleep ? If so, such sleep she 
never had before. She called Manu and asked him why 
this silence and continued sleep from which there was not 
the usual awakening. In comforting assurance he laughed 
at her fears. "She had a busy day, culling sea moss and 
gathering shells; by morn she will be ready for her play." 

The morn ! All that night Mai sat daring not to place 
her darling in the cradle. The gray East blushed with 
light, when a weird wail came up from the sea. The child 
quivered, awoke and, opening wide her eyes, looked up to 
Mai's. Looked up, but away and beyond, as seeing through 
earthly things to the beyond. 

"They have come with the boat," she whispered. "Please 



66 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

place me carefully in the nest and spread the covering close 
to l^eep me warm. I have a long, long way to go? You 
will go ? Ah, no ! It was so dark ? It is lighter now, and 
I must go before — it — gets night again." 

Her eyes closed. Mai bent her face against that of the 
child. She was surprised at its coldness, and that she no 
longer heard the rhythmic breathing. When Manu came 
she implored him to explain the mystery. 

"I do not know,'' he said hesitatingly. "Once in the for- 
est I saw a fawn a wolf had bitten. It ran to me, and as I 
stroked its glossy neck it uttered a plaintive cry and fell 
motionless. Nor could I again restore it to activity. It 
was as Pearl now is in your arms. I know not; I can not 
explain. Perhaps it is a deeper sleep, and she will awake 
when the day brightens." 

As they thus conversed they were made conscious of a 
presence, and the presence said, in solemn, yet inexorable 
tones: "You desire to know what has happened? You 
remember me? I am Death. Did I not declare to Life 
that whatever she could create I could and would destroy ? 
And here is my witness. Pearl was the best Life could 
create, and I have taken this best, and nothing can restore 
her." 

"No being can be so merciless, so cruel, as to take my 
darling !" cried Mai. "I will hold her so fast you can not 
tear her away." 

"She has already perished. The flower has shed its 
bloom. The body will go quickly to dust." 

Slowly Mai grasped the ideas of death and awoke to the 
dreadful knowledge of her irreparable loss. It came not 
as it has to countless mothers with their full knowledge, 
but as the shadow of the unknown. How many a mother 
has pressed close her child with protecting arms, and prayed 
as only a mother can pray to have the bitter cup turned 
aside, and then realized that her prayers met no answer, 
for the breath passed she knew not where, and only a clod 
of clay, the broken cage which confined her bird of song, 
remained ? 

Then it seemed a sin for the sun to shine in the heavens, 
for one to laugh or a bird to sing when the light and joy 
of life had vanished ! 

She bathed and dressed the inanimate shard, with min- 
gled hope and fear, twined blossoms in her golden hair, 
and by every gentle persuasive sought to make those drowsy 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 67 

lids again open, that she might see the soul within. As 
she watched a change slowly came. The waxen features, 
wondrous fair in angelic sweetness, darkened, became dis- 
torted and repellent; so horrible that she turned away with 
the agony of despair. Manu not only suffered from his 
anxiety for the child, but double more from the agony of 
Mai, whom he held in his arms and sought to console by 
words which were to both as empty phrases. 
^^ They were silent for a time, when Manu exclaimed- 
"Why have we not called on Life, who brought us into 
being and gave us the child ? She surely can restore what 
she has power to create." 

With clasped hands they invoked the Great Mother of all 
Being, and as they finished she stood in regal strength and 
beauty before them. 

"What is the demand of my children r she asked. 
Mai pointed to the shell-like cradle where Pearl lay in 
ghastly satire of her living self. 

Life, startled by the revelation, for a moment was ap- 
palled. "Ah, the Destroyer has blighted my fairest work ! 
It IS sacred because it was her garment and you will em- 
bower it with lilies and roses and give it back reverently 
to the bosom of Nature, from which it came." 

Even as she spoke there came out of the air the cruel 
voice c f the Destroyer, in exultant tones : 

"Reverently place her in the bosom of her mother Na- 
ture and bid good-by forever! forever! My slaves shall 
snatch the atoms of her form so dear to you and dissolve 
them into the chaos of the elements." 

"Why, oh Death," said Mai, "did you not spare her until, 
like us, she became matured and tasted the delights of this 
fair world ? Why snatch her away as a bud broken from 
its stem before scarcely a petal had expanded ?" 

"And is your petty life of so much consequence ? Is it 
so essential that every bud expand to fullness? Not one 
in a thousand blossoms bear fruitage, not one in a million 
beings come to maturity. Most of your race do not find it 
agreeable. You have not tasted the bitterness of age, which 
balances the pleasures of youth. I am not terrible to all, 
for many court and gladly hail my coming. Even do thev 
rush to my embrace. If I take the child I save it a life of 
disappointments, of regrets and pain. It loses nothing, it 
gains repose. Repose is the condition to which all things 



68 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

converge; the nirvana of forgetfulness, where as there is 
no sensation there is no desire." 

"Are you certain that my designs have failed and you 
are triumphant?'^ asked Life. 

"What do you expect of the future of any of your beings, 
even the most perfect ? Out of this dust will you resurrect 
another form? It will not be the same. You may go on 
and on iix your seething caldron, but only to reform, renew, 
remodel/' 

"I have not so blundered, nor failed in my plan," replied 
Life calmly. "I have a realm over which you have no 
power. All my forces have been laboring by evolution to 
this perfect fruitage. In these highest beings I have com- 
pleted the arch even to the keystone, and you can not crush 
it. After you tear away the scaffolding of the physical 
body it will remain." 

"You would have us take this by faith!" said Death, 
with gleeful laughter. "Faith is belief in things you do 
not know. What we do know is the disappearance of your 
vitalized forms. They are gone, as the hum of the bee 
after the insect has passed ; as the warmth of the fire when 
the fuel is consumed! Faith may soothe the pangs of 
grief, but it offers no solution acceptable to the under- 
standing." 

"Now will I for the moment lift the veil which shuts 
from mortal view my crowning creation." With an im- 
perious gesture Life lifted the curtain between this world 
and the world of spirits, and then their tearful eyes beheld 
the darling Pearl, held in the arms of an angei and sur- 
rounded by beings of exquisite beauty. 

"My lost darling!" cried Mai. "May I go to her? Can 
I bring her back with me ?" 

"Nay," Life sadly replied, "for in my cycles there is 
never a downward step. The angel can not return to be- 
come a human being; the human being must become an 
angel." 

"May I, then, go to her ?" asked Mai. 

"Not now. When this transition comes to you, then, 
leaving your body here, your celestial being will pass 
through the veil and greet, her." 

"Am I to be like those I now see around her ?" 

"Even like them, and like them you are now, for in you 
have I solved the problem of continous existence. The body 
may perish, but the celestial being outwrought by evolu- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 69 

tion, as its final expression, is my triumph over all the op- 
posing forces of decay." 

"Why should this veil close between this higher and lower 
world?" asked Manu. 

"It has no reality. It is an illusion of the senses. To 
the blind a wall of darkness extends before them, and be- 
cause your eyes, unless changed as I have changed them, 
can not see, you think there is an impenetrable veil before 
you." 

While they conversed, the angel brought Pearl to Mai.^ 
With a cry of joy she nestled against the fond bosom, and' 
kissed the lips that always spoke sweet words for her. 
She did not understand why she was not caressed, or that 
Mai did not know she was there. When she found that 
she received no response, she began to grieve, and the 
attending angel folded her in his arm, and with many a 
caress, bore her away. 

"How will she be in the future 3'ears?" asked Mai. 
"When I go to her, will she be as the child, or maturely 
grown? Will I know her if there comes to her such 
change ?" 

Life replied: "She will change from the child to the 
likeness of the angels, and you will know her, for love 
never forgets." Stretching forth her hand, she said : "I 
will give you power to see through the shadows and a 
glimpse of that life which is continuous with this." 

They seemed to stand on a summit of a promontory, 
and a sea wrapped in clouds extended beneath them. As 
the great cloud curtain parted, they saw beyond, a coun- 
try so exceeding fair that no words could describe its love- 
liness. There were many people there, and through the 
archway they saw a multitude passing in, some led by 
those who had come to guide them, and others met at the 
entrance. There were glad recognitions; weeping for joy, 
and surprises no words can express. Burdens and cares 
and sorrows, disappointments and regrets were left at the 
gateway. The child was borne by angel guides; age threw 
off its decrepitude and passed in youthful strength; hus- 
band met wife, wife husband, and children came to 
welcome parents. It was a glorious vision and Life 
turned in triumph, to her antagonist and said: "This 
after countless defeats, is my final triumph. This is the 
perfect fruitage of the tree I planted when the earth first 
emerging from fire-mist, swung in the murky atmosphere 



70 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

of chaotic elements. Its roots run down to the founda- 
tion of things, and its branches reach into the heavens. 
As all living forms ascend to man, so through man is 
evolved an immortal spirit. My task has succeeded, and 
know, oh. Death, that you are not my enemy, but my 
friend; not my antagonist, but my most tireless slave, for 
without your dissolving power my processes could not 
succeed, and did you not at my summons throw open the 
portal, my perfected spirits could not pass through. You 
are the Angel of the Resurrection !" 



A MAN'S A MAN, FOR A' THAT ! 
(A recitation.) 

I speak to those who were born at the base of Mount 
Use. My words are to encourage the ones who feel that 
there is enough in them to achieve some of life's desirable 
victories — and who does not feel so?— but who are so 
hedged with environments that the struggles of the climb 
up the mountain, to the sunlight which floods its top, seem 
at times overpowering, and the soul too often crouches, 
face to face with the skeleton of Defeat, instead of looking 
hopefully into the dream-face of a well-rounded life — a 
life full of usefulness, beauty, truth — sometimes crowned 
with the blossom-wreath of a world's appreciation. As an 
inspiration I will paint a few word pictures of some of 
the royal human products of this world, who cleared their 
way to the top of the mountain: 

"A man's a man for a' that !" I seem to hear a voice 
— a weird voice, uttering a truth which should be written 
in letters of gold. It breathes the hope and triumph of a 
burdened, but not crushed soul. 

It is tender with love and musical with the rhythm of 
poetry, seeming to come from a spirit endowed with rare 
gifts, but struggling in the bonds of unremunerative labor. 

It is the voice of a soul walking on the wings of the 
wind, while the body to which it is chained must wrestle 
with material things for bread. Sometimes it is "jolly- 
ing" humanity; giving it a song and dance tonic to 
brighten up its face, and again it bursts into the tremu- 
lous pathos of sorrow which only heaven can cure. Listen 
to the voice! 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 71 

*'No fear more, no tear more 
To stain my vanished face. ' ' 

Again the dream of early death departs and the external 
part of the young Scotchman again turns to the material 
part of life; to bread-winning— to the muck of soil, tools 
and weariness. 

"A man's a man for a' that.'' 

Hark to the voice ! You are charmed with the sweet 
Scotch idiom. It comes winding down the years of more 
than a century, warming our hearts with its resonant 
sublimity and making our eyes rain tears for the singer 
whose name is now fondly cherished in all lands. 

It is the voice of Burns— the poet of Ayr. We hear it 
afar off, faintly mingling with the singing river in the 
land of bluebells and heather. It swells in volume as its 
notes roll into the present new century; we hear, clear 
and distinct, as if trumpeted by an angel, for the encour- 
agement of the oppressed, these words: 

''What tho' on homely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden gray, and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man for a' that, — 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel shows and a' that; — 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king of men for a' that." 

Not always was the voice of hope a buoy to the spirit. 
At one time, before this great Scottish singer had pub- 
lished a volume of poems he gave expression to despond- 
ency in a letter to his father. It was when he was learning 
the business of flax dresser. He says : "I am quite trans- 
ported with the thought that ere long, perhaps very soon, 
I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasiness, 
and disquietude of this weary life, for I assure you I am 
heartily tired of it. ... I am not formed for the 
bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall 
never again be capable of entering into such scenes. I 
foresee that poverty and obscurity, probably, await me and 
I am in some measure prepared, and daily preparing, to 
meet them.'' 

He adds, in a postscript : "My meal is nearly out, but 
I shall borrow till I get more." He had not yet discovered 
himself. But he sang on at his work. A genius, with 



72 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

thousands of unsung songs thrilling his whole being! — 
one destined to voice them, and set them flying adown the 
years, singing to millions of hungry hearts, so cruelly 
chained to the wheels of poverty and want, yet demon- 
strating the golden thought which afterwards fell from his 
lips, "A man's a man for a' that!'' 

What genius, struggling against the barriers of unfavor- 
able environments, has not felt the truth that the man is 
the gold, externals are but tinsel. 

Washington Irving — what a beautiful name our literary 
bachelor was graced with, once visited Stratford-on-Avon 
on a poetical pilgrimage. He writes, "My first visit was 
to the house where Shakspeare was born, and where, 
according to tradition, he was brought up to his father's 
craft of wool-combing. It is a small, mean-looking edifice 
of wood and plaster — a true nesting place of Genius, who 
seems to delight in hatching her offspring in by-corners." 

We can imagine the pretty little Willie emerging from 
the unpretending dwelling in common garb, frolicking with 
the other lads in the meadows bordering the Avon, with 
no indication of the intellectual god, growing in the start, 
like the common run. An oak is not larger than a violet 
when it is a few weeks old, and who could guess, seeing 
them for the first time, that one would bloom for a few 
days and then disappear, while the other would grow for 
centuries, towering an hundred feet above the sweet blue 
blossom. 

Did not Franklin feel the supremacy of man over 
externals in his early struggles to free the intellectual 
giant within him? The fifteenth child in a family of 
seventeen! What chance could there be for him in such 
a nestfull ? 

There was the chance which is given by nature that 
superiority will assert itself. And it did assert itself 
magnificently from the time he, at the age of seventeen, 
ran away from his brother's printing office to escape his 
tyranny, going first to New York, and thence to Phila- 
delphia, where the lad made a comic show of himself trying 
to appease hunger, and lose no time, by eating from a loaf 
in hand and carrying two more — one under each arm for 
another meal! Tie was climbing up Mount Use. He 
could not go ahead hungry. He knew his own business at 
that tender age. There is not one within the sound of my 
voice whose heart will not say, "Three cheers for the brave 



A GOLDEN SHEAF tZ 

young giant ! Never mind his poverty ! Never mind his 
oddity ! ^A man's a man for a' that !' " 

When the child-laborer, who grew into the English poet 
Gerald Massey, was in his poverty-steeped childhood, what 
but faith in the prevailing power of good could have kept 
him up ? At eight years of age he worked in a factory ; it 
was destroyed by fire and that threw the little fellow out 
of a job. Then he tried to earn his living by straw plait- 
ing. After that he was errand boy in London, and when 
out of a situation often went without a meal to buy some- 
thing good to read. 

He knew, even then, that the great city was teeming 
with an aristocracy brutalized by opulence. The poor 
starved that the rich might surfeit, and yet, with his face 
sunward, he sang in after years: 

''Hope on, hope ever; yet the time shall come 
When man to man shall be a friend and brother, 

And this old world shall be a happy home 
Where all earth's family love one another; 
Hope on, hope ever." 

Nothing but the consciousness of the truth which the 
bard of Ayr uttered could have floated him triumphantly 
over the sloughy lowlands to a sure footing on the sunlit 
heights of Mount Use. 

He knew full well — 

''The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
The man's the gold, for a' that." 

In truth, we are born to our destinies, and when nature 
plans a genius she will not be repressed. Poverty cannot 
thwart her more than the mud around the lily bulb can 
stain its starry blossom when it hangs high above it on its 
strong stem. 

The chances, to human eyes, were against young 
Abraham Lincoln, when, in the log cabin he laid himself 
down to rest on the pole bed, built in the corner of the 
room, to sleep, and dream, and wonder how he could ever 
be anybody — a man among men. Poor ? Yes ! Awkward ? 
Yes ! But there was royal material in the lad. We query 
if the spirit of the poet of Ayr ever whispered in his ear, 
"Keep heart, laddie! A man's a man for a' that! An 
honest man's the king of men, laddie ! Work away ! work 
away !" 



74 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

When Garfield was struggling out of his somber boy- 
hood, half orphaned, willing to do anything to help his 
mother along with the family, what could have kept the 
heart of the child-man buoyant ? What kept up his courage 
when trudging on the tow-path ? When doing chores for 
his board? 

He wanted better clothes, and better food; but he did 
not have them because he wanted an education more. He, 
too, caught the winged hope which the poet of Ayr set 
flying among the echoing hills of Scotland more than a 
century ago, "A man's a man for a' that!" It grows 
sweeter with age and will continue to cheer the strugglers 
against cruel odds as long as human souls aspire to climb 
sunward and Godward. 

The world wheels onward with its freight of souls. Some 
are oppressors — some are oppressed. Some are brutalized 
by want. Some are cruel and miserly — some are kind and 
just. We catch the gleam of weapons and the groans of 
the dying while we hear, almost in the same breath, the 
shouts of victory, and the clanging bells of joy. We 
wonder if all worlds roll onward with such a pandemonium 
on their surfaces. 

Is there any one within the sound of my voice who feels 
that the world is against him? Any one who says, "If I 
had been born with better chances I might have been some- 
body ; but it is no use struggling against such odds !" 

Listen ! I hear the voice of our poet ringing down from 
the highlands of heaven with a message to every doubting 
heart : "Keep heart, laddie ! — lady, keep heart ! A man's 
a man for a' that, laddie, and an honest man's the king of 
men, now and forever!" E. K. T. 

THE HOLY HEIGHTS. 

I am tired today — o'erclouded, 

As the world goes weltering on; 
Let my soul fly up to the summits 

Of the best days lived and gone. 
I would not throw off my burdens, — 

Not even the ones which smite, 
But I must rest, so let me dream 

In Memory's holiest light. 

There are sacred days in all lives, 

No matter how low they run, 
Bich in the impresses which last 
Longer than earth or sun; 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 75 

Little actions which intertwine 

Around the immortal part 
As well as its temple, wherein plays 

The blood of the mystic heart. 

The days when we loved our best loves; 

The days when some unseen law 
Smote us prone as we clashed with it, 

Weak as if *'men of straw," 
But arose from our quick prostration 

Wiser and humbler, too, 
Eeady to say ''there are many things 

To learn, to avoid, to do." 

All human lives are such brief things, 

If they had not our souls in thrall 
It would seem but a silly waste of time 

That we mention them at all. 
For in all the whirling and rushing 

Of a restless universe. 
The ephemeral factors which make up men 

Are the easiest to disperse. 

Light, heat and life are so shifting. 

And their products change so soon! 
The finest brain, in a little while 

Lies deader than the moon. 
The heart which is supersensitive 

To Life, with its stabs and shocks, 
Throbs, hurts and burns for a little space, /^ ^^N^ 

But soon with the years deadlocks. ^ >. 

Two factors abide eternally. 

Outworking all things there be; — 
Matter and Gravity,^ — they are the gods 

Laboring creatively. 
Filling the boundless universe 

With nebulsB, planets, stars. 
Whirling them onward through vasty space, 

Wondrous flaming cars. 

Light, heat and life! They are all alilt, 

Scene-shifting things everywhere, 
Save on the dead worlds, — they roll on 

In blackness, blank and bare. 
Did you ever think of a dead world 

Traveling through the sky? 
And feel that your body may ride on one 

Ages after you die? 

They carry no freight of aching hearts, 

-No tortured sub-human lives; 

No light, no life, no stir, no pain, 

In those black cars survives. 



76 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

The ashes of the struggling things 
Which lived, and loved, and died. 

Will whirl around a rayless sun, 
Taking a long death ride. 

So when I tire of fret and shock, 

And cannot see the gain 
Of life's close struggle, that black dream 

Stalks in to kill the pain. 
I know, in ages yet to come, 

The old dead world will seize 
All sacred matter I have loved 

With human ecstasies, 

And bar it, for a space at least, 

From sentient torturings; — 
But it will take its place, sometime. 

Where fresh creations spring; 
So let me climb the holy heights. 

While earth goes weltering on. 
And waste an hour in looking back 

On good days, lived and gone. 



E. E. T. 



WILL GOD GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE? 

When we contemplate the deficiencies in human nature, 
the failures in many of the most noble lives, the defeats 
where victory should have been achieved, we pathetically 
ask: "Will God give us another chance?" Will it be 
worth while to Him? or will He leave us with the flower 
dust, the ashes of dead song-birds, the leaf-mold, which 
once living, beautified the trees above our heads, but in 
autumn floated down to earth for disintegration, that it 
might be ready to feed new life expressed in fresh organiza- 
tions of tomorrow ? 

We might have done so much better ! or we could do so 
much better if we could have another chance ! So we all 
think — so we all hope — not quite losing faith in ourselves, 
no matter what blunders we have made. 

While we are garmented in our bodies we may take 
chance after chance to improve our past work. But when, 
either from disease or age, we feel our time for going out 
of this life approaches, we ask with all the earnestness of 
a last earthly hope, "Will God give us another chance ?" 

In "Ships which Pass in the Night," there is a touching 
conversation between Mr. Eeffoldj a dying consumptive who 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 77 

had sought Petershof, that Mecca of invalids, hoping for 
benefit which he did not receive, and Bernardine, a clever 
young woman, broken down with over-work, who was there 
recuperating. The voice was gentle and her manner quiet. 
She was a comfort to the hopeless invalid. 

Indifference to the needs of those around us, whether 
human or dumb creature, is paralysis of the soul. Ber- 
nardine was not afflicted with the disease of indifference. 
She was sympathetic, brave and true. 

Mr. Eeffold called her Little Brick. To her it was sad 
to see him passing away, so lonely, so uncomplainingly. 

"I^m a chap who wants very little,^' he said one day. 
"Those who want little get nothing.^' And he turned his 
face to the wall. 

The sound of sledge bells, of the pleasure-seekers at sad 
Petershof, went jingling by. His gay wife was in one of 
the loads. Then Bernardine knew he thought how little his 
own sensed his fading out of life. But that was all he 
said. 

At last he said, after the long silence, in a weak, low 
voice, "Little Brick, I have something on my mind. You 
won't laugh, I know; you're not the sort. I know you're 
clever and thoughtful, and all that ; you could tell me more 
than all the parsons put together. I know you're clever; 
my wife says so. She says only a very clever woman would 
wear such boots and hats." 

Bernardine smiled. 

"Well," she said kindly, "tell me." 

"You must have thought a good deal, I suppose," he 
continued, "about life and death, and that sort of thing. 

"I've never thought at all — does it matter. Little Brick ? 
It's too late now. I can't begin to think, but speak to me. 
Tell me what you think. Do you believe we get another 
chance ? — and are glad to behave less like curs and brutes ? 
Or is it all ended in that lonely little churchyard here? 
I've never troubled about these things, but now I know I'm 
so near to the sad little place it makes me wonder. As for 
the bible, I never cared to read it much ; I was never much 
of a reader, though I did get through two or three fire- 
work novels and sporting stories. Does it matter. Little 
Brick?" 

"How do I know ?" she said gently. "How does anyone 
know? People say they know, but it is all a mystery. 
Everything we say can be but a gloss. People have gone 



78 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

mad over their guessing; so have they broken their hearts. 
But still the mystery remains and we cannot solve it." 

"If you don't know anything, Little Brick, tell me what 
you think. Don't be too learned — remember I'm only a 
brainless fellow." 

"If I were you/' she said, "I should not worry. Just 
make up your mind to do better when you get another 
chance. One can't do better than that. 

"That is what I shall think of; that God will give each 
of us another chance, and that each one of us shall take 
it, and do better, I and you, and everyone. 

"So there is no need to fret over failure when one hopes 
one may be allowed to redeem that failure later on. Be- 
sides which, life is very hard. Why, we ourselves recognize 
that. If there be a God, some intelligence greater than 
human intelligence. He will understand better than our- 
selves that life is very hard and difficult, and He will be 
astonished, not because we are not better, but because we 
are not worse. At least, that would be my notion of a God. 
I would not worry. Just make up your mind to do better 
if you get the chance and be content with that." 

"Is that what you think. Little Brick? That is good 
enough for me ! and it does not matter about prayers, and 
the bible, and all that sort of thing?" 

"I don't think it matters. I never thought such things 
mattered. What does matter is to judge gently and not 
come down like a sledge hammer on other people's failings. 
Who are we, any of us, that we should be hard on others? 

"A little kindness does away with a great deal of bitter- 
ness." 

He turned wearily on his side. 

"I think I could sleep. Little Brick. I want to dream 
about your sermon ; and I'm not to worry, am I ?" 

"No," she said, as she glided out of the room — "you are 
not to worry." 

And he slept into the tomorrow to try another chance. 

Hope! beautiful rose-wreathed Hope! Holding up 
before our dying eyes the golden dream of another chance 
in the sweet Beyond. We all need it. We all want to try 
again. We hope to do better. Shall we? Yes, if we 
remember our mistakes there, and the pain of them; we 
shall do better when our souls, disentangled, take the other 
chance in the country which mortals have never yet 
traveled. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 79 

Has your life been all you planned it? 

Have your high hopes been fulfilled? 

Have you courage to say that, after the cup of mortal 
life is drained, and empty, sparkling elixir from immortal 
fountains, sweetened with infinite possibilities, and satis- 
fying progress, you will gladly take ? 

I say it not for myself, but for all I love. 

Each soul speaks back to my soul: 
*'Aye! aye! we would gladly try! 
We would balm the pain of our blunders 

"With achievements pure and high! 
We shall know the rocks we broke on 

In earth's shadow-locked advance, 
And the blinding mists will have lifted 
When we measure our other chance." 

E. K. T. 



THE GEEAT ETEENAL PITY. 

In the days of our rejoicing and the nights of our despair, 
When life's music is triumphant or a harsh, discordant din, 

If we strive, by self -uplifting, to advance right everywhere, 
There 's a great Eternal Pity for all failure and all sin. 

For the splendid programs shortened till they disappointed us; 

For the Hate, Disease and Envy, snatching wreaths we hoped 
to win; 
For the cannibal destroyers who for feasts anointed us, 

There ^s a great Eternal Pity for all sorrow and all sin. 

O, the warring, murderous nations, fighting on the lands and seas, 
Mastering intricate inventions, which 'twere better had not 
been. 

Fighting from ignoble motives, scheming how to kill and seize, 
Come, oh great Eternal Pity for all sorrow and all sin. 

There's a great Eternal Pity! Brothers! Sisters! Angels come, 

Bringing penetrating forces that our souls may take it in! 
Let us gird ourselves with patience, knowing, though our tongues 
grow dumb. 
There 's a great Eternal Pity for all sorrow and all sin. 

E. R. T. 



80 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



SHE HAS AEISEN. 

Eosa Bonheur Tuttle entered the higher life, Dec. 31, 
1905. 

"Is death the final sleep? No, it is the last awaken- 
ing." 

To us the old year went out in darkness and the new 
year dawned with sky overcast with clouds. 

After months of suffering the inevitable had come. Our 
daughter had borne all patiently, hopefully, bravely, for 
she wanted to live, for her own sake and those dear to her. 
No one ever enjoyed life more. She loved its strenuous 
duties, and never shrank from or set aside its obligations. 
As friend, wife, mother, she gave her best with self- 
sacrifice and devotion, and with a care for others more 
than for herself. 

In the evening, her sister Clair, who all the weary time 
had been her constant attendant, asked: "Are you in 
pain ?" 

"No, dear," she whispered, "I am going home at 
twelve." After a while she said, "I am happy, but hate 
to go!" 

As the midnight hour approached, her dear ones gath- 
ered around, saw the unmistakable shadow of the mes- 
senger whose task is to break asunder the cord of fife. The 
lines of pain disappeared ; her eyes looked from one to the 
other, questioningly, and then into the vacant air above 
her with an eager joy. She was seeing through the veil, 
what mortal eyes have never seen. A smile came over her 
face, from her lips a whisper not audible, and her spirit 
escaped the bars of its bondage and left with us only the 
broken cage. 

And she passed through the gateway of the resurrection 
into the angel land. 

Did you ever hope against hope, hope with your heart 
when reason all the time told you it was folly ? Have you 
had a dear one bound to the torturing rack of disease, and 
prayed with shifting prayer that the inevitable could be 
turned aside? So had we prayed, and with our prayers 
went every effort that skill and love could suggest. Her 
room was decked with fiowers sent by thoughtful friends ; 
her whimish appetite enticed by dainties; every symptom 
noted and provided for, and her least wish answered. Had 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 81 

her disease not been mortal, her tenacious vitality would 
have been victorious. She fought a brave battle against 
fate. 

When she returned from the hospital, she thought the 
operation had been successful, and always buoyed up by 
hope, she expected to be soon well. We dared not unde- 
ceive her, and while she planned pleasures for the coming 
season — visits to friends, receptions for them, outings here 
and there, what she would do for her children, and orna- 
mentation of the home and grounds, we knew all to be a 
dream that never would be realized. 

And so she drifted on till Christmas time. There was a 
slight improvement, so much, her brother, her physician, 
said there would be hope, did we not absolutely know the 
incurable cause. She gained in strength to walk around 
the room, and take her place at the table. On that blessed 
Christmas day she was bright and cheerful. How many 
kind and thoughtful friends she had ! A table was placed 
in view of her easy chair, on which was placed her gifts 
that she might enjoy them. Friends near and far remem- 
bered her. The morning mail brought many tokens with 
accompanying notes. Some of the writers, not knowing 
her condition, wished a Merry Christmas, which sounded 
like mockery. Others expressed prayers for her speedy 
recovery. How much she enjoyed these symbols of regard. 
There never lived one who more devotedly loved her 
friends, or more appreciated their kindness. 

Nor had she been forgetful with all her suffering, and 
unable to do anything for herself. She sent souvenirs to 
all members of her family and nearest friends — last tribute 
of friendship already half transplanted to the realm of 
souls ! 

Oh! that Christmas day! We all made merry for her 
sake, and she concealed her mortal hurt with smiles and 
bantering words. 

You come today to pay your last tribute ; you who always 
met the glad smile, the hospitable recognition, the heartfelt 
voice of welcome, find no greeting. The mistress who loved 
home more than any place on earth, and in every sense was 
a home-maker, greets you not. The rooms are silent. Her 
favorite pictures on the walls are dumb. The body she 
possessed while here lies on a couch in unpitying mockery 
of life. The departing spirit left a smile on her dead face 
when it caught a glimpse of the heavenly glory. 



82 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

It is human to regret and weep ; not one who has not felt 
the shaft of bereavement strike deeply into his heart. The 
happiest lives are prolonged to see the nearest and dearest 
depart. The grand majority are on the other side of the 
river. 

Can we see across to the other side ? Do the fogs never 
lift, or is it forever shrouded with dense clouds and 
brooded over by darkness ? When we sit down by the ashes 
of our hopes, our heart bleeding with wounds and every 
sense benumbed, justice, affection, mercy, pity, fade from 
view, and the God of love seems afar off! A wall juts 
between us and heaven. 

And yet we know the sun is shining above the murky 
clouds, shining serene, bright and beautiful as on creation's 
morn. Through the darkness and doubt of the senses, 
shines the glory of the future life. We may not compre- 
hend; we may not know its sublime possibilities; we must 
be content ! 

Must we be content? Nay, we have knowledge! We 
may have visions of the glories of the Spiritual Kingdom ! 

Our dear one believed this with a knowledge that bridged 
the gulf between life and death, and made it a triumphal 
pathway for her discarnate spirit. From her childhood she 
had never doubted. She constantly saw spirit friends and 
conversed with them. Her daughter, Emma Clair, who 
died in infancy, was constantly present. Toward the last, 
she said to her little children who came to kiss her: "I 
have been with you a long time, and now I am going to 
visit Emma Clair, who has come for me." Was this a 
delirious dream of fever, or a ministering spirit? Can 
there be doubt ? 

We cry out in the blindness of our grief. We are selfish, 
and want our friends to stay, and that there will be no 
change. But is it not more, even to our selfish desires, to 
have an angel enthroned as a guardian above us. 

If we could by our prayers recall her to the full flood 
and joy of life, on bended knees we would pray without 
ceasing till the answer came ; but if it must be to this worn 
body, which she has deserted because a burden, how 
supremely selfish to recall her ! 

Rather will we pray that we may approach her devoted 
life. The angel world may bend low over us in infinite 
love ; ours is to ascend to them. 

Grief brings suffering hearts into sympathy. It sho^s 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 83 

human weakness and need of dependency. We are strength- 
ened by sympathetic tears, and adversity, disappointment 
and loss are not the worst that can befall us. They chasten 
and free us from egotism. While they show our weakness, 
they develop our strength. 

We come together and bear and share each other's bur- 
dens, and thereby brighten the golden links of fraternity 
which bind us together. 

We cannot expect this world to remain under a clear sky 
with gentle winds; so in every life some rain must fall, 
some blasting lightning stroke be received. 

There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there; 
There is no household, howsoe'er defended. 

But has one vacant chair. 

We think there is little left of joy when such disasters 
come, and yet if we survey what is left to us, we will see 
how much worse our condition might be. How many ties 
yet bind us ! How many duties to be performed ! How 
much joy in life if we grasp what is presented ! We make 
the mistake of thinking that as there is no happiness for us 
today, there will be none tomorrow. No day so dark but 
joy comes into it, and whatever comes to us we should 
make the most of. 

Enjoy the living! Grief chastens and makes us more 
gentle and careful of others. There are times when we 
would give all we possess, the whole world, were it ours to 
receive *The touch of a vanished hand,'' and hear the sound 
*^of a voice that is still !" And yet when that hand was 
grasped in life, we gave not the greeting it craved ! 

Sorrow has its lesson : It is to gentleness of spirit, ten- 
derness of feeling, and loving kindness; all the care, 
thoughtfulness and interests we had for our departed ones, 
we transfer to the living. What the departed would have 
done, is for us to do. If we love them, we shall finish their 
tasks, as we hope others will complete ours that remain 
unfinished. 

"I am going home at twelve !" Home ! Is the soul 
conscious that this world is not its home? How it longs 
for greater opportunities and dreams of happiness never 
gained in this life. Countless generations have repeated 
the saying of the ancient prophet : "Arise and depart for 
this is not your rest." 



84 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Six hours before, the angel flashed his message, "Com- 
ing home at twelve." Father, mother, husband, children, 
friends, may unite in prayer to hold back the going, but 
when the fateful hour tolls from the tower, the command, 
"Arise!" will be obeyed. 

All are going home. Going to the home of the soul, the 
kingdom so glorious that it has been pictured as of gold 
and all precious gems, because nothing on earth can repre- 
sent it. All going home in endless procession ! Eest for 
the weary toiler in new activity. Rest for the sorrowing 
in meeting those gone before. Rest in doing the things 
undone in this life, and no longer bowed by repulsive bur- 
dens. The weary toiler feels that this life is not his home ; 
that there is a place of rest whither he is going. The 
stricken-hearted have reliance on the promise : "You are 
going home ! When the hour strikes you will go." 

Spiritualism gives knowledge which is a higher faith to 
the questioning soul. There is a higher life where the 
injustice of this will be righted; its pain repaid by joy; its 
losses with gain; its deprivations compensated, its fetters 
broken ! There the tangled skein of life will be made 
straight; its broken threads united. There the separated 
will be joined together; friendships renewed, and the 
emancipated soul unpinioned, arise to its destiny. 

Our narrow lives feel the loss, the disappointment, the 
regret, the ruin of our dream-castles, all builded on this 
side. Though the departed come through the mist-curtain 
shutting down between our mortal lives and theirs, and 
give us assurance, all is so changed and different, our senses 
are unappeased. 

Even in the clouds of our grief, our dear one has come 
like a star of hope, and already our dream-castles arise on 
the other shore. We will not grieve, for it reflects on her. 
"Ministering spirits," remember us, and bend low in brood- 
ing care, and as a beacon-light on some jutting headland 
guides the storm-tossed mariner through gathering fogs, 
from reefs and treacherous bars and wreck-strewn coasts, 
may their influence guide until the morning's call, "COME 
HOME !" 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 85 

A STOEY ABOUT A POEM. 

Forty years ago, one summer Sunday, we had a carriage 
load of unexpected visitors from a near by city. They were 
wealthy people, who never had a want long which money 
could supply. But that day they were seeking spiritual 
food and consolation. 

They felt satisfied with the cream of life, and were not 
sensitive enough to be even pained by the wants of those 
who try to live on skimmed milk and whey. They had no 
realization of the unsatisfying diet. They never had tried 
it. They were beautiful, agreeable, and we had a pleasant 
day, for no disagreeable subject was talked about. 

We dined them, wined them, and gave them the best 
spiritual refreshment in our various lines. 

Near twilight their fine horses and beautiful carriage, 
gay with decorations of silks and silver, were brought out 
to convey them to their palatial city home. After cordial 
invitations and good-byes they sped away. 

An hour later I was sitting on the porch, with our two 
children, Eose and Carl, — little tots then, — when coming 
wearily up the road, from the north, on foot, appeared a 
poor family ; father, mother, and four children, the young- 
est a babe in arms. They halted under the walnut trees 
in front of the house and asked if they might rest a bit. 
"Would it be possible for you to let us stay all night ?'^ 
asked the mother. 

"Of course, mamma,'' said little Eose, "'keep them I that 
baby must stay!" 

"We'll not make much trouble," said the father. "We 
have some bread and young onions for our supper." 

"Ma'll fix you up," said Carl. "That ain't enough!" 

It was the old story of effort, failure and a sad march 
back to old friends. 

I thought I couldn't, but I did put them all into a large 
room, gave them food, drink, lodging, and in the morning 
they went on refreshed. 

I thought that day of little else except the 'sad social 
situation. At night I wrote the first three stanzas of the 
following poem and laid it by, intending to finish it soon. 
It lay forty years ! A few days ago I found it and finished 
it. How little years count to the spirit! It seems but 
yesterday since I wrote the first lines. But it is forty 
long years ! 



86 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

YOUR LIFE OR YOUR LABOR. 
[Commenced 1867, finished 1907.] 

A beautiful robber is walking the earth, 

With garments magnificent trailing about her; 
Songs rill from her mouth, and her eyes flash with mirth, 

Though holy Saint Agnes talked more devouter. 
Her fingers are white as a calla in bloom. 

But grasping the hilt of a gem-gleaming saber, 
And this is the cry which in sunshine or gloom 

Her rose lips are voicing, ' ' Your life or your labor ! ' ' 

I think you must know who this fair robber is, 

Who walks like a princess with slaves all about her. 
She flings to the crowd sheaves of sweet sophistries, 

And, deluded, they say, ''What would life be without her!" 
Her royalest purples are handsome to see; ^ 

Her diamonds illumine the night with their shining; 
Her fingers are sleepy and soft as can be. 

And who does not long for the sweets she is twining? 

She reigns upon earth, and the millions bow down, 
All servile and slave-like, to hear her dictations; 

She knows it is Labor which purchased her crown 
And offers to her all its choicest libations. 

She knows not of weariness, thinks not of toil. 

And looks upon Want as a phantom unreal. 
Which vulgar ones prate of with noisy turmoil, 

And rattle her bones through the beauteous ideal. 

This merciless tyrant is comely and sleek, 

Her well-rounded body is draped to perfection; 

But those who best serve her are scrawny and meek, 
Toiling year after year, feeling only dejection. 

Men, women and children are under her lash ; 
All strangers to justice, or comfort, or leisure; 

They must gather their earnings and pay her their cash. 

Or Death will arrest, making unexplained seizure. 

Oh, the toilers must eat, and the toilers must sleep; 

They must rent them a place to be able to do it, 
When the winter is on and the chill snow lies deep. 
How they shiver and say ''Can we ever get through it?" 
There is scarcity of fuel and scarcity of food. 

And the feet must be shod and the blue hands protected. 
It is hard to be poverty-stricken and good 

When the aflSuent sinners seem those most respected. 

The workers must rise from their sleep in the dark, 

And must breakfast in haste on the cheapest of rations. 

They must strain every nerve to come up to the mark 
Of the tyrant, who dictates the pace of the nation. 

Want lashes the underworld on to its tasks. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 87 

And sad lives wear away with the grinding and aching. 
Still the robbers are out in their finery and masks, 
Demanding, oppressing, subduing and taking. 

This beautiful robber is conscienceless Wealth, 

Whose bottomless wants are a curse, always pressing 
The ones who must work without comfort and health, 

Until life is disease and its finish a blessing. 
' ' Your life or your labor ! ' ' How long shall she cry 

Her threats to her peers, who are toiling in danger. 
And know any day may be their day to ^e. 

To appease the demands of a rock-hearted stranger! 

' ' Your life or your labor ! ' ' Speak, men from the mines. 

The sweatshops, the ships, and the tunnels and subways! 
Cry back to the robber who laughs o 'er her wines, 

Forgetting oppression sometimes ends in blood-craze. 
Cry back, ' * We are men, if but men in the toils ! ' ' 

Shout strong for fraternity! Plead for its blessings; 
Entreat from the souls which are pinched in the coils 

Of the robber who kills and declares it caressing. 

Seek out other avenues; build to your dreams; 

Desert the fair syren who, fettered would lead you. 
The hosts of reform are fast kindling love's beams. 

Over hilltops and mountains, they heed you! they need you! 

E. E. T. 



ON. 

Lead on to the highest action ! 

Lead on to the clearest thought! 
The laggards will try to hinder 

And grumble, "It counteth nought.'' 

But on! to the highest viewpoint; 

Press with a winning will. 
Tell to the ones below you 

Truths, with alluring skill. 

First they may sneer, unheeding; 

But lo! it will not be long 
Before they are beauty smitten, 

And singing a grand new song. 

E. E. T. 



88 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



THIEVES WHICH THE LAW CANNOT TOUCH. 

We are all to a greater or less extent victims of theft. 
Sometimes children come crying into the world burglarized 
by their parents, — victims of the most damaging of all 
robberies. 

Strong bodies, fit for the dwelling place of strong souls, 
are the need of nations as well as individuals, and when 
parents rob unborn children of vitality and correct moral 
tendencies and load them with disease, hatred, murder, 
insanity, in place of what they have stolen from them in 
an unreasoning and selfish pursuit of pleasure, they are the 
worst kind of thieves, although not amenable to law. 

How many poor, incompetent, if not idiotic child-victims 
are to be found, whose lives are robbed of value because 
the father would get drunk, or half drunk. He probably 
was ignorant of the laws of heredity which were working 
for his misery and the deterioration of his children as well 
as the world. It is their right to come so well born that 
they can bless the world by their presence in it; but they 
are few who start with all the advantages which might 
be given them. If any animal should be laced into corsets 
until its liver be crowded against its hip, as many women 
compress themselves, some officer of a society for the pre- 
vention of cruelty to animals would divest it of such an 
instrument of torture, give a sharp reprimand, and 
threaten arrest if the offense was repeated; and the laws 
of the state would sustain his action. 

And yet, if we endeavor to induce study into the laws 
of health, and special means of promoting it, how little 
aid we receive. People have their "cut and dried" work 
and care less about what is done than who does it. They 
generalize but do not give special lines of work which bear 
on every day life and rational home happiness. It makes 
no difference how brilliant we may be on occasions, if we 
are not well rounded, every day philosophers in the little 
things of life we do not amount to much after all. We 
may be stars, and home-keepers, too, if we can, but do not 
let us neglect our duties to shine at long intervals. 

I think women are the victims of theft more than any 
other class of individuals. Oh, you say, "I never lost any- 
thing to speak of/' Did you ever think about time thieves ? 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 89 

You must have suffered at their hands, unless you are 
indeed favored of the Gods. 

The very smart workers, who can do a job in half the 
ordinary time, are sure to leave much for some one else to 
do. They dash off their hats to the floor, — never go a step 
to find a nail or a hat rack — mother's feet can do that, "I 
am in such a hurry!'' It is all very well for one day, but 
when it foots up for a lifetime, it is a great loss of time, 
and is stolen from you without even a thank you in return. 

A few days ago I was in a great hurry getting on the 
dinner ; one of the smart workers, who steal other people's 
time, to gain the reputation on, had been tacking down a 
carpet and in order to pick up nails quicker had emptied 
the box bottom side up, lost the cover and left them for 
Slow-poke to pick up after Chain-lightning had finished 
his job and was cooling off on a glass of ice-cold lemonade. 

Men are quite as thievish about the hanging up of boot- 
jacks as anything. I know a man who has cheated his wife 
by making her perform that chore for him about three 
times every day for forty years. Figures, which can't 
he, tell a big story of dishonesty. That man has stolen 
his wife's time to hang up his bootjack 43,200 times and 
has damaged her temper inestimably, and yet the law can't 
touch him. 

I know another person who, in winter, always draws a 
chair just as near the stove as is possible and not cook 
herself when she sits down in it, but when she gets up 
never moves it back, but leaves it so that the chair must 
either be ruined by the heat or else somebody must go and 
remove it. In five minutes probably the whole thing must 
be repeated and so on until spring; now that person would 
not steal a pinch of snuff, but she really is an unconscious 
time-thief, who is cultivating the sin of "mental" swearing 
in the manager of the house. 

A man who sows tools all over the place, dropping them 
just where he uses them so that there is general disturb- 
ance every time they are needed, and innocent, unoffend- 
ing feet must chase off to hunt them up, is an offender who 
ought to be made to pay fines, but the law overlooks his 
faults. Usually, instead of owning up to his fault in 
neglecting to put his tools in their places, he sneakingly 
lays it to the children. 

"Wife, where is my hoe?" "I don't know, dear." "Well 
I do ! Johnnie has had it to play horse with, and lost it 



90 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

in the weeds. I've a mind to tan him ! Children ought to 
be made to let things alone. Johnnie ! Johnnie ! Where 
is my hoe ? Tell me quick — ^you little rascal ! — hunt 
it up r 

"Why, papa, I didn't have it ! I guess you left it up in 
the lot where you planted pum-k'n seeds." 

"Oh, yes, — guess I did. Well, Johnnie, you run up there 
and get it — that's pap's good boy !" 

So he steals a couple of ounces of growth from Johnnie 
to run half a mile for his carelessness, besides nearly 
paralyzing him with the threatened "licking." 

We find theft has not always a physical basis. An old 
deacon, who would not have stolen a pin, stole the faith 
of his son by wrong teachings and made him an infidel. 
He did not mean to do a wrong, but he did not understand 
all about the matter he was teaching. It was about prayer 
— teaching a little boy to pray if he got into trouble and 
God would at once attend to his little business and help 
him out. If the deacon had told his son that God never 
answers prayers which are contrary to His eternal laws, 
the little boy would not have been robbed of his faith by 
his well-meaning father. 

It was in an early day, and in haying time, there was 
not the opulence of good tools, farmers have nowadays. 
The deacon had one good steel pitchfork he kept choice; 
but his little son was in the field and got astride the steel 
fork to take a ride ; he pranced off to a mound where wild 
strawberries grew, and there on a stone, a little snake lay 
sunning himself. Possessing the general inherited hatred 
of snakes, the lad raised the fork to spear it, letting it 
down with a ring on the stone, snapping off one tine. 
What an accident ! The steel fork broken ! A whipping 
sure to come. The boy felt the need of help; he remem- 
bered what his father had told him about God being ever 
ready to answer prayer. So he concluded to have God 
come and mend the fork so he could take it back to his 
father as good as he took it away. He got the tine, put it 
in place and held it with his little hands while he dropped 
on his knees. 

"Oh, Father in Heaven, I have never bothered you 
much, and hope I shan't have to, but I want a little help 
now. I've done something I didn't mean to do. Fve 
hroJcen the steel pitchfork and I know I shall get an awful 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 91 

whipping unless you come down and mend it for me, 
which I believe you can do. For Chrisf s sake. Amen." 

He straightened up — let go and the tine dropped from 
his hands into the grass. From that time prayer was use- 
less — a waste of strength, because the deacon's unwise 
instruction had stolen the sweet faith of childhood. If we 
want prayers answered we must pray on the line of law, 
and should so teach our children. 

There is a great amount of "thieving," which is taking 
things stealthily, as well as "robbing," which is taking 
things openly by force, that is, not reprimanded, nor even 
denounced as wrong. The tendency of everjrthing is on- 
ward, and God has no especial favorites in His universal 
plan of progress. Because man is by organization a kind 
of "boss" among other animals is no reason why he is 
privileged to trample on all their needs and rights, declar- 
ing them only animated machines made expressly for his 
pleasure and profit. 

I wish they had been made machines without sensation 
or wants, but they are not — they are made on the same 
sensitive plan of human animals and there is an ethical 
justice which should be understood between men and ani- 
mals which is for the good of both. A human can not 
abuse animals and be unjust to them and be just to his 
fellow. 

The tendency of cruelty, even thoughtless cruelty, is 
downward and not upward. All our actions in life should 
tend to "lift up" our souls and not to drag them down. 

You can not fail to notice the difference in the expres- 
sion on the faces of people who are aging; whose actions 
have been chiseling away at their faces for years. Some 
seem to have been in company with angels of light, while 
others have leagued with demons of darkness. Love, kind- 
ness, unselfishness are angels, while hate, cruelty, selfish- 
ness are demons which work with sure hands on our faces. 
The heartless men and women who take the services of the 
animals they own and do not in return give them comfort- 
able lives — the wherewithal to keep up their bodies equal 
to the drafts made upon them, are not being honest ; they 
are stealing the life of noble creatures by inches and mail- 
ing a record of crime upon their faces. 

Put yourselves in their places, for physically you are 
not so far apart from them. Can you keep warm in win- 
ter on ice water and a scant allowance of poor food; not 



92 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

half enough nor rich enough ? No, you want heat-produc- 
ing food and in plenty if you stand the cold well; so do 
your dumb friends. They do all for you — you own their 
lives : make them comfortable, even happy if you can. 

I have of late been studying a very disagreeable subject, 
which seems to be making inroads on our colleges and uni- 
versities and even an attempt has been made to introduce 
it into the public schools. 

It is the dissection of living animals for what is claimed 
to be educational purposes. Vivisection is, as I look at it, 
the most dangerous feature of so-called education. It is 
brutalizing and almost entirely useless. 

Following German and French methods, many colleges 
devote certain hours each week to this bloody business, 
allowing the students themselves to operate without limita- 
tion as to pain. 

The brutality and utter indifference with which vivi- 
sectors pursue their experiments and recount them are 
proof of the dangerous and demoralizing effect they pro- 
duce. They repeat experiments after what they claim to 
be investigating is demonstrated. One vivisector, having 
used one horse to demonstrate, was not satisfied to give up 
the demonic test until he had thus murdered eighty horses 
by inches. 

Canon Wilberforce, of England, says: "The experi- 
ments of certain physiologists are those of inhuman dev- 
ils/' In the name of science animals have been burned, 
baked, frozen, saturated with oil and set on fire, starved, 
skinned alive, crushed, had their feet larded with nails 
and every other torture inflicted on them which human 
ingenuity can invent, and in the majority of cases without 
the least beneficial results.^' 

Dr. Brackett, of Paris, who by various tortures inspired 
a dog with anger, says : "When the animal became furi- 
ous whenever it saw me I put out its eyes.'^ Still, when 
he spoke, the poor dog knew its tormentor, and was angry 
at the sound of his voice. Then he says : "I disorganized 
the internal ear as much as I could, and when intense 
inflammation made it deaf I could go to its side, speak 
loud, even caress it without its falling into rage." A de- 
fenseless dog and a human — what? 

Von Lesser, of Germany, experimented at length in 
scalding animals to death. He plunged a dog for 30 sec- 
onds in boiling water. He scalded another four times, at 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 93 

intervals. Others which had just passed through the 
pangs of parturition were tortured. 

Dr. Castex, of Paris, fastens a dog to a dissecting table, 
using no anaesthetics, and beats it with a stone bottle on 
its thighs — a dozen heav}^ blows. It cries violently. He 
with difficulty dislocates the shoulders of another victim. 
It appears to suffer greatly. 

Chauveau used eighty large animals, mostly mules and 
horses, to see the extremest torture he could produce by 
irritation of the spinal cord. 

Mautegazza of Milan devoted a year to torturing ani- 
mals. He even invented a machine which he called his 
"tormentor,^' to aid him. In it he placed little animals 
which he had quilted with nails, so that any movement 
would give agony, and there they were torn and twisted 
and crushed until death released them. He says he did 
this "with much delight." 

All these experimenters, destitute of sympathy, pity 
and good sense, have given us a crop of American "imita- 
tors," who bid fair to be breeders of vice and crime. Let 
us endeavor to protect our youth from such dangerous 
instruction, as well as shield the lower animals from 
unspeakable suffering. 

Who of us would allow our children to be under the 
influence of such instructors? The psychic influence of 
such persons could but degrade and would steal away all 
the gentleness and moral acuteness which ought to be cul- 
tivated instead of blunted. Let us express ourselves 
strongly against it and all forms of injustice. We should 
put our short lives to brave uses. 

We want no educated demons to train American youths 
into unfeeling monsters who will delight in wars and all 
evil, but wise instructors who love peace, comfort and jus- 
tice. E. E. T. 



MY KIISTGLY ST. BERNARD. 

Died, surrounded by his friends, in the family sitting 
room at the Tuttle homestead, March 26, 1904, the St. 
Bernard "Trooper." 

MY KINGLY ST. BERNAED. 

There's a vacant place today, 
Wher^ mj loved friend used to stay, 



94 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

On the carpet by my favorite easy chair; 

'Twas his resting place for years, 

And my eyes are full of tears 
When I see he is no longer near me there. 

I have wondered, with hushed heart. 

How we two could ever part. 
For I knew the lonesome time was stealing on, 

And that some time it might be 

As today it is with me — 
Sitting here and knowing one I love is gone. 

Dead ! My St. Bernard is dead ! 

Low his massive, silky head. 
Which he laid upon my lap to be caressed, 

While his wondrous, large brown eyes. 

Always true, intense and wise. 
Seemed an anchor to my soul, howe 'er distressed. 

Words express not my regret 

That I could not hold my pet 
From the grave, so dark and silent, where he lies, 

With his dear head on his paws. 

Chained by Nature's iron laws, 
Unresponding to my human miseries. 

Any moment, when alive. 

He had sympathy to give. 
Coming near to learn what troubled, and give aid; 

Offering his massive paw. 

Pressing down his mighty jaw. 
Saying plainly : ^ * I am here, be not afraid ! ' * 

Always lovable and grand. 

Quick as thought to understand 
Each expression flittering o 'er a human face, 

I have seldom seen outwrought 

Such impressiveness to thought. 
Nor a human friend who more deserved his place. 

When I needs must stay alone 

I shall hear his thund'rous tone, 
As I used to in the yesterdays now dead ; 

Eolling through the lonesome dark — 

Hear my Guardman's warning bark, 
And reach out my hand to stroke his noble head I 

Oh, what would I give to know, 

If to Heaven I ever go, 
I shall meet my dear companion, happy there ; 

No harp playing e'er could be 

Welcome as his bark to me 
When I reach that country, fair beyond compare. 

E. R. T. 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 95 



GLEANINGS— PARAGRAPHS. 

True government is that which allows the individual the 
utmost freedom and exercises that power which is neces- 
sary to guarantee this freedom and execute those measures 
which society as a whole can better perform than the indi- 
vidual. The obligations of society end here and the sphere 
of the individual begins. 

The child should be taught as the first moral lesson, that 
it is a divine and holy being, too good and pure to do 
wrong. That as physical health is the perfect action and 
balance of all bodily powers, so spiritual health and happi- 
ness depend on the action and balance of all mental facul- 
ties. It should be taught that expediency must never influ- 
ence its choice and that the conscience should rule. For 
the man and woman there is the same code. The thought 
or word which causes one to blush should crimson the 
cheek of the other. Virtue, chastity, fidelity have no limi- 
tation of sex. 

Love is free to choose, but in man love means more than 
instinct; it means the affections, and all that vast sphere 
of unselfish qualities which have been aptly termed benev- 
olence. Having made choice, it incurs the most moment- 
ous duties possible for a human being to assume, and rights 
spring up which can not be set aside. These can be prop- 
erly met only by a life of mutual devotion between the 
husband and the wife. The fruit of love is an immortal 
spirit, coming into this world claiming as a right inalien- 
able the affection and care of its father and mother. 

Marriage rests on a more sacred obligation than a divine 
ordinance — that is, the constitution of man ; and yet there 
are many reasons for granting the right of separation. If 
a mistake has been made; if the husband and wife grow 
apart and become hateful to each other ; if the old fable of 
the union of beauty and the beast is repeated; if refine- 
ment, purity and spirituality are united to coarseness and 
brutality, there is no law of right or justice which should 
keep them together. It is a wrong against not only the 
suffering individual, but against society; for the latter 
can not be benefited by the martyrdom and sacrifice of the 
individual to laws working injustice. 

If we conceive of spirit at all it must be through the 
medium of matter. Something can not originate from 



96 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

nothing ; an infinity of nothing is nothing still. This view 
may be considered as materialistic, but it is not material- 
ism as commonly understood. By matter is not meant the 
physical elements exclusively. As there are waves of light 
and sound which the eye nor ear are organized to take cog- 
nizance of, so beyond the limits of the so-called elementary 
substances others are possible which the physical senses do 
not recognize. 

An immortal being is one in whom the forces of reno- 
vation and decay are exactly balanced, and in case there is 
no expenditure there is no requirement for replenishing. 
But in case of expenditure there is this necessity, and the 
principle holds good that spiritual beings have the same 
relation to the spiritual realm that man has to the phys- 
ical. This comes with the corollary that, where a spirit 
uses force it must supply itself therewith, and in this there 
is a direct correspondence with the methods by which it is 
supplied in the physical body. 

"The only way to govern Nature is to obey her laws." 
The forces of the external world move in certain channels 
in which, if we are placed, we are certainly and directly 
impelled, but we must not cross the lines. As soon as we 
depart a hair's breadth we meet the rude buffet of the ele- 
men!;s. We are bound to this rack of existence until death. 
Until death ? We can not die. The soul, like the elements 
which gave it birth is immortal. 

Purity has been sought by renouncing the world and 
retiring from its allurements. The rocky cavern, the cell 
of the monastery, the solitude of forest and desert — all 
have had their fanatical devotees, who, unable to conquer 
themselves in the world, voluntarily banish themselves 
out of it. An individual may preserve himself unsullied 
in the darkness of a cavern simply because untempted. 
He is no better or worse for that. It is not what a man 
does, but what he is. Doing is only a revelation of the 
inner life. 

If there is an immortal spirit it must be originated and 
sustained by natural laws. If this be true we are to seek 
the origin of the individualized spirit with the origin of 
the physical body. We are to place the growth of one with 
that of the other. The physical body is the scaffolding by 
which the spiritual being is sustained, and when matured 
sufficiently remains after that support is taken away. 

He must learn to fulfill the law not because pleasing to 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 97 

anyone else, but because such obedience is a necessity of 
his constitution and the supreme good. 

Man has no right over his own life, for he is part of the 
social body, to which he owes allegiance, and he is not to 
judge when the circumstances environing him warrant the 
step. True courage meets and grapples with fate, and if 
defeated dies in harness. The Eoman who cast himself on 
his sword was educated into a wrong conception of life and 
its duties. That we have life shows that we should main- 
tain it in its integrity. The desire for existence is not only 
a product of health, but is a leading cause of its mainte- 
nance; when we lose the desire to live our earthly bodies 
are nearly fallen from our spirits and we soon depart. 

Things are as they are because they must be, not because 
right; because such is written in the constitution of the 
world. 

So far as man is a circumstance his will is not free ; as 
a centerstance of force it becomes free. 

To decide what are woman's right there is but one ques- 
tion : Is she a human being ? If "yes" be the reply, then 
she has all the rights of a human being. There can be 
nothing more self-evident. If it be asked: Is she the 
equal of man? we reply that she is equal in some respects, 
inferior and superior in others. Her constitution and the 
sphere it prescribes is different from his in a portion of 
its arc, but in the main coincides. Her equality or ine- 
quality, however, has nothing to do with the question. The 
highest form of civilization must give woman equal rights 
and equal opportunities with man. Emancipated from the 
slavery which from the dawn of the race, has been her lot, 
and freed from the mental traits this slavery has culti- 
vated, her future will be inconceivably glorious. She is 
now behind man in the race because she has been retarded. 
Her future is now opening before her. Everything she 
may desire to do awaits her hand. 

First, then, if we ask: Can sin be pardoned? we an- 
swer no ; for there is no pardoning power in the universe. 
To pardon is to set aside the consequences of the laws 
transgressed, and as laws are unchangeable this is impos- 
sible. 

If we do what is right, which, as we interpret it, is to 
do that which brings the greatest sum of happiness, we 
scarcely know there are laws, for we pass along their fixed 
grooves so easily. But there are other causes running to 



98 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

effects quite opposite. In the physical world the effects of 
these are disease; in the moral, sin, error, crime, as you 
may please to term it. These laws bring pain or punish- 
ment inevitably. 



RESULTS FROM DOGMATIC RELIGION. 

Superstition; a priesthood; bigotry; persecution; sup- 
pression of knowledge ; mental darkness and the arrogance 
of infallibility. 



RESULTS FROM A KNOWLEDGE OF THE LAW 
OF THINGS. 

Man, not God the divine center ; nobility of life ; highest 
ideal of perfection; calm reliance in the presence of 
universal and omnipotent forces ; all embracing charity and 
philanthropy; earnest endeavor to actualize the ideal per- 
fect life rendered possible by his organization in this world 
as the best preparation for the next, and for the religion 
of Pain, the substitution of the religion of Joy. 



Religion, in its highest meaning, is the last term of 
knowledge and morality: devotion to the right, con- 
secration TO DUTY, unshrinking SELF-SACRIFICE. 



Evil is the friction of Nature's activities working for 
eternal good. 

As man advances, he is torn less and less by the thorns 
against which he is thrust by ignorance, and realizes that 
the only divine life is that wherein he comprehends nature 
and gladly does her bidding, and that Evil can only be 
overcome by growth. 

The human being, physically and mentally matured, 
is the representative of every law and condition which 
has ever acted on him or his progenitors, ad infinitum. 
In him they are not only individualized, they are cen- 
trestantialized. He exists because of their action; he is 
as they have made him. In this sense man is a creature 
of circumstances. So far as these forces and conditions 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 99 

acted previous to his birth he is not a free agent, nor is 
he in his relation to the fixed action of the great forces 
of Nature. But on the circumstances which surround his 
maturity he acts by virtue of his inherent selfhood, the 
resultant of all previous conditions which make up that 
selfhood. In this view he may be considered free; for 
what we call a man is nothing more nor less than the 
aggregate of forces and conditions, many of which we 
understand, and many of which we do not understand. 
He is free, just as his organization, representative of all 
previous conditions and forces, will allow. 



If the universe is a machine which in time will run 
down and die, all its force being dissipated, does it not 
follow that in the beginning some superior power united 
this force with matter ? Also does not it follow that if this 
dead universe again lives, a superior power must draw 
back the scattered beams of light, heat, magnetism and 
other forces, and re-endow the dead residuum? 



When we consider the reproductive cell, too small to be 
seen by the unassisted eye, bears the impress of every 
condition experienced by its ancestors from remotest time, 
and in the order of its growth will express all these condi- 
tions, it is no longer a phenomenon on which we gaze, but 
a miracle of creative power, and all that has been written 
since Galen's time as to its cause is as children's prattle. 
The material side furnished no adequate explanation. Its 
coarse methods are not adapted to measure the illusive 
psyche. The balance weighs not, the scalpel dissects not, 
the retort holds not the elements of the soul. 



We do not see through the thin veil which separates the 
world of spirits from the world of men. We cannot see the 
air which surges a profound and agitated ocean above and 
around us. Without physical rays of light we could not see 
material things and would be practically blind. 

If we ascend a mountain in the night, we can only 
perceive the gray and mossy rocks a few yards ahead of us, 
beyond which is impenetrable darkness, gloomy abysses 
seemingly unfathomable, and above, the dark night-clouds 
without a star. On the summit we rest awaiting the morn- 
ing, seeing nothing, but scenting the faint odor of pine 
and the fragrance of flowers borne upward on the soft air. 



100 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Patiently we wait till the Lord of day pushes the darkness 
aside and flashes over the world in triumph. Valleys of 
Eden loveliness at our feet, and snowy summits above our 
heads ! Grand forests clothing the hillsides ; bloom and 
flowers everywhere; gem-like lakes and flashing torrents, 
endless prospective of mountain on one side and of plains 
on the other. All night we were in the presence of this 
grandeur and beauty, yet saw it not. We seemed sus- 
pended between earth and sky, and around us only black- 
ness, yet all this splendor of scenery existed the same before 
the light made it visible. Thus the world of spirit may 
exist around us, unseen, because our physical senses are 
blind to spiritual light. 



When the Sun of Knowledge shines from the zenith of 
the cloudless heavens, and there remains no dark shadow 
of ignorance behind which superstition may linger, then 
man will find that restful peace in the certainty of law 
and order, the devotee now receives from his blind faith 
in salvation by the cross. Then will have perished the 
Religion of Pain, which has through past ages held man- 
kind on its rack of torture, and will have dawned in the 
millennial day, which is not divine, but essentially human, 
the Religion of Joy. 



Now the philosopher has stepped upon this planet, the 
question is "what we know,^' not "what we believe.^' 



The intelligence manifested by living beings is the 
individualization of the intelligence of nature. 



The universe is bound together with the same sym- 
pathetic relations as the human body. Not an atom 
moves, but it affects the farthest star. Not a breeze 
blows, not a wave beats on the shore, but it affects all the 
orbs of space. 



I have mingled tears of pity with those who have been 
bereft, at the same time knowing that their loss was gain 
to the departed. 



Activity is our happiness, and thinking right and doing 
our best are the gateways to heaven. 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 101 

The mass of mankind understand the delicacy of the 
conditions which go to make up the sensitive subject; of 
the acuteness with which the nervous system is strung; its 
keen susceptibility to pain or pleasure, about as well as the 
illiterate boor comprehends the chemical tension of the 
plates in the camera, or the subtile ways of electricity. 
To be sensitive, is to have at times the light of heaven 
in the heart, and at others the darkness of despair. A 
thousand influences are always acting, and his brain 
receiving them all trembles to their vibrations. 



If a butterfly, endowed with language to express the 
beauties of the broad summer landscape, the soft winds, 
the melting clouds, the fragrance and nectar of flowers, 
should return to the old bitter herbage, where its bristly 
relatives were feeding on acrid leaves, and spreading its 
brilliant wings to catch the sunlight, should attempt to 
relate the wonders of the life that was its own, how little 
would they understand, how sadly would they misconstrue 
his meaning. For them there has been no experience of 
wafting winds ; no sensation of flying ; nor of sweet nectar 
food, or perfume and brilliant color, and of these no words 
held in common could convey any meaning. 

For a full knowledge of the higher life we must wait. 



If we would learn of nature we must retire to her soli- 
tudes and let no one intrude, the nearest and dearest may 
draw with well meaning hands a veil between us and the 
sun. In the solitude of the forest, by the shores of the 
sullen sea, in the depths of the starlit night, we rest as 
dwarfs overpowered by the stupendous elements, yet are we 
the centers of all force and phenomena. We are in the 
vortex of creative energies, and if we silently question, the 
answers come as soon as our minds are receptive. In its 
adoration of the boundless, the soul mirrors its own infini- 
tude. The shoreless expanse of sky and wave blending, lost 
in mist, in the newer-reaching horizon; the depth of the 
stars, beyond and beyond, in vistas leading out into abso- 
lute void — beyond all created things — to such the soul 
acknowledges kinship, and in them finds its satisfaction. 
The thoughts of the stars are untongued, but they vibrate 
across the limitless ether, and are eloquent to the receptive 
mind. 



102 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

The great leaders in statesmanship, war, literature, the 
arts, the sciences, invention, few in number, are centers on 
whom the thoughts of their time converge, and find recep- 
tion. They are moved by forces beyond themselves, and 
plan wiser than they know. They have no ancestral 
lineage, they rarely transmit their talents to their off- 
spring. For the brief moment of their great achievement, 
they gain the heights never before reached, and not again 
to be reached by their posterity. 

Divine motherhood begins with divine fatherhood. The 
germinal impulse carries with it all that has entered into 
the lives of remotest parental ancestors. 



It is folly to teach that there is no sickness except in the 
mind; idle to teach faith can cure disease, the seeds of 
which were planted unnumbered generations ago, and 
grown rankly from parent to child. It will require right- 
eous living for generations to bring the high estate of 
physical and spiritual health with its possibilities. Then 
sickness will be regarded as a mark of ignorance, if not a 
crime. 



If the future life is a continuity of this, then the perfec- 
tion of religion is the making of this life perfect, not by 
crucifixion of the body, not by suffering or disappointment, 
but by complete and harmonious culture. 

I sit down with the friend of my heart and neither 
speak a word; we visit in close communion of souls, in 
silence. The highest* thought, the most profound feelings, 
are beyond the sphere of spoken words. 



Beliefs, dogmas, creeds shall perish, but morality, the 
growth of the intellect, freed from gross and perverting 
idolatry, shall achieve a nobility of character unknown 
before. Faith in the doctrine of vicarious atonement, fear 
of offending a relentless God, the tortures of hell-fire, the 
authority of a book or a caste, shall pass away before the 
certain light of man's true relations and a positive develop- 
ment of morals. You fear the consequences? You fear 
for morality? Who has the keeping of the world? Is 
man its guardian ? Is it not God, or God manifest in laws 
unchangeable? Who has had its keeping? Whoever or 
whatever the power, it has steadily worked for human good, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 103 

and amid all our pains, we have been slowly advancing out 
of the fog of ignorance into the light. Whatever that 
power may be, we must trust it. Morality ! Do you think 
morality can be assisted by a belief in falsehood and error, 
arising out of ignorance of the forces which control the 
physical world and human life ? You cannot believe a lie 
will help the truth, or that good can come from the support 
of evil ! 

Now you do not believe in a personal devil or a literal 
hell of fire. Our fathers were mistalcen. Oh ! are you not 
glad they were — glad that your children do not shudder in 
their little beds at the terrors pictured by the preachers, 
and when the wind cries at the eaves, cover up their 
precious heads in wild affright, at the coming of satan? 
It was the refinement of cruelty to inflict the trusting heart 
of childhood with the tales of ignorance, and make it 
shudder at the dark, fearful of the night, distrustful of 
itself, and dependent on dogmas! We are all glad our 
children are not tortured by such idle fears. 

It is all past. Hell and devil ! as taught fifty or twenty- 
five years ago, never more will disturb the rest of child- 
hood. Our parents were mistaken, yet they thought a 
belief in these was essential to salvation, and had no fel- 
lowship with one who denied them. They would almost 
have outlawed such a vile heretic. They thought that with- 
out fear, morality and religion would perish ! The belief 
has perished, yet men have become more strictly moral and 
religious. Step by step these dogmas, each one of which 
was once considered absolutely essential, have been dis- 
carded. A revengeful god, predestination, fore-ordination, 
eternal punishment, a local hell, a personal devil, one by 
one are pronounced untrue, or else left behind brooded over 
by unbroken silence. Are you not glad they are ? We are 
getting out of the dark marshlands, and as we climb the 
mountain summit, it is glorious to breathe full breaths of 
the pure air of freedom. A subtile inspiration rests on us 
and we feel new zest and joy in life. 

Are you not glad this light dawned on the horizon and 
burst in full splendor in your day, and that you were not 
doomed to the homes of darkness ? You are not called on 
to unravel the questions of theology, which engaged the 
childhood of thought. The great problems of the existence 
of evil, the fall of man, the tri-unity of God, everlasting 
punishment, hell, devil and a host of others, have ceased to 



104 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

be problems, — they are chimeras of ignorance, and as such 
may be left to moulder in the past. The present is alive, 
and to hold on to these dogmas is to bring the corpse of 
the past from its grave. You — if you have just recognized 
this fact — you have awoke as from a dream, and you have 
found the belief you fondly cherished which was your 
comfort and your strength, dead and requiring burial. 
You gave it what it required, shed warm tears over its 
grave, and was glad it was dead and buried. All, however, 
are not so quick to see. Their beliefs die, and they continue 
to drag the corpses after them, dried to mummies, and by 
a sort of contagion they, too, become dry and mummified, 
and dead. This is the saddest sight in the world: the 
marriage of a live man to a dead belief ! 

What a God our forefathers believed in? Clothed with 
darkness terrible to contemplate, omnipotent in wrath, man 
he created for his own pleasure, and he condemned him to 
eternal hell for his pleasure. He smiled at the tortures of 
the damned. He ruled by arbitrary might, and demanded 
crouching servility and sacrifice. 

Men lived troubled lives between two fears — of God and 
the devil, and of the two, the latter was the less terrible. 
Who would return to the old-time belief in the nature of 
God? Who would now wish to believe in a fiery hell 
and a cloven-footed devil? Who would now wish to 
believe in total depravity, infant damnation, and eter- 
nal punishment? You do not believe in these, nor do 
you wish to. You say every hour of your lives, I am glad 
I live in the present time. Despite its infidelity, its 
skepticism and irreverence, it has freedom, breadth of 
thought and morality, and it favors love instead of fear. 

After the vote, on the revision of the Presbyterian creed, 
it is reported that a minister said in explanation, that the 
church had not shifted or changed its foundations ; it was 
the same in belief as it had been since its beginning ! It 
is most advantageous to make one's self believe that defeat 
is victory ! 

And now the deed is done, we cannot help thinking what 
suffering this cruel belief has done in its time. What 
blight of superstition the belief indicates ! What suffering 
it has caused ! Mothers weeping in grief that could not be 
soothed, because hopeless over the eternal punishment of 
children dying without baptism ! As though the sprinkling 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 105 

of an unthinking infant by a minister would send it from 
hell to heaven ! 

Nor can we help thinking what the result would have 
been if a majority of these Presbyterian ministers had 
voted the other way. Have infants been damned up to the 
moment of this vote? Are they now saved? Or has the 
creed been wrong, and infants been going to heaven ? The 
church leaders have contended that the Bible proved this 
part of their creed. Now they say it does not. If this 
article has been entirely unsupported, and no one dis- 
covered it by the Bible; no one discovered it until they 
were enlightened by knowledge gained outside the Bible, 
who knows but a little more knowledge will show other 
articles of the Confession of Faith as unsupportable and 
false ? 

The devil has gone to limbo. 

Hell vanished like a night-mare dream. 

Heaven become more inhabitable. 

Cruelty stricken from the creed. 

Conduct of life made more than belief. 

Impelled by the inevitable spirit of the age the church 
is pushed onward ! 

Let us be thankful that the Presbyterian ministers no 
longer blaspheme the name of God, by claiming to believe 
He has paved hell with the skulls of infants not a span 
long! 

THE ITEMS OF SPEING. 

My head is so full of the items of spring — 

Hepaticas, wake-robins, grass leaves upshooting; 

A lark song, the flash of a bluejay's bright wing, 
A bevy of blackbirds each other disputing; 

The caw of the crows and the cackle of hens, 
And sweetly the ever-dear robin reds singing; 

The little striped snakes crawling out of their dens. 

And the slim wasps and hornets out scrapping and stinging; 

The honey-bees hunting for something to do; 

The apple blooms wearing their hoods closely hugging 
Their faces; potatoes to plant, melons, too — 

A vision of men Paris-greening and bugging! 

The horses and drivers out plowing the fields; 

The oat leaves and corn banners soon will be waving. 
The mysteries mastered to bring in flush yields 

Are all *'up the sleeve" of the thorough and saving. 



106 A GOLDEN SHEAF ^ 

A bunch of chrysanthemum plants one sends in, 

Another a few bulbs to set out, of dahlias, 
The proud flowers which have not to ' ' toil nor to spin, * ' 

But stand, like flower princes, in royal regalias. 

My head is so full of the items of love — 

The little exchanges with dear friends and neighbors; 

I think, too, of those who are living above, 

And of days when they joined us in stress of earth-labors. 

They come, though unseen, and I plant them a flower. 
No matter how distant the land of their dwelling ; 

I want them to come any day, any hour, 

And to know in my soul there is no sin repelling. 

E. E. T, 



TIME AND MATTEE FOE LYCEUM LESSONS. 

This paper was given at the fourteenth annual conven- 
tion of the N. S. A. at Chicago, 111. After its publication 
I felt highly honored to receive the following endorsement 
from Dr. Andrew Jackson Davis, the founder of The 
Progressive Lyceum: 

Boston", Mass., Nov. 17, 1906. 
Inspired, Dear Sister Emma T. 

Your lesson for lyceums is worth its weight in diamonds 
of the first water. The depth and scope of your own mind 
come forth in what you so eloquently express. 

Ever thine, A. J. D. 

The entire session is intended to be a series of educa- 
tional lessons, in various directions, all converging to the 
production of a well balanced human individuality. 

The object of the Lyceum is to develop the best types 
of men and women; not to produce Spiritualists merely 
who will be bigoted supporters of their own ism and society 
only. The church Sunday-schools are simply feeders for 
the various isms to which they are auxiliary. 

The Progressive Lyceum starts on a broader basis and 
aims higher than the success of societies merely. It 
attempts to develop the young into persons who will be 
capable to take up any good work which will advance the 
progress of the world. It aims to graduate its pupils in 
love, will and wisdom. To make them fraternal, strong 
and intelligent. To make them competent leaders but not 
unreasoning followers. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 101 

A satisfactory lyceum session cannot be held in less time 
than an hour and a half or two hours, as it is necessary to 
engage the interested attention and intellectual work of 
bofh adults and children. The school is equally beneficial 

*° Societies will grow much r'"^:^^"?"'^^ Tti'' ftTe 
permanent if the lyceum takes the place of one of the 
usuTl Sunday lectures. This gives time for complete work 
affords all a chance to take part and although it may not 
be as financially profitable to the lecturers, it is r^^^^^J^^^^ 
conducive to intellectual growth and independent thought. 
That is the original lyceum plan, and if carried out it is 
the grandest part of society work. 

This sublime plan was presented to mortals by the great 
Andrw Jackson Davis. It possesses the wonderful possi- 
bilities of cultivating at the roots and producing the blos- 
soms of advanced spirit personalities. Rooted on earth t 
bZsoms in heaven. This should be kept ever m the mmds 
of leaders and pupils. , 

Long ago, when Dr. Davis was a young man, and the 
lyceum plan had not yet been given to us, he gaye the basis 
on which it is formed in three propositions which I give 
below. They are from the "Present Age and Inner Life, 
page 268: 

I-irst— Nature is designed to develop the body.^ 
Second— The body is designed to develop the mind 
Third— Each mind is designed to develop enough dif- 
ferent in structure from every other to establish the mdi- 
viduahty and eternal duration. . . , . , 

In these propositions we have the umtemized curriculum 
of the Progressive Lyceum. Can any school be greater in 
scope' Is any system more worthy the attention of edu- 
cators who desire to benefit the young and carry their work 
in thl future ? Do not dwarf it. Give it place, time and 
work The lessons should bear on its purpose as clearly 
Ttated in the first Golden Chain Recitation m the Lyceum 
Guide : 
What is the Lyceum ? . 

The school of liberal and harmonious education. 

?h: uSdmS^of all faculties in their due order and 

degree. 

How is this attained? 



108 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

By first removing all obstacles to self-development and 
then providing the expanding intelligence with the fitting 
food, which it can assimilate according to its needs. 

What are the two great divisions of this study? 

The physical and the mental nature. 

How does it accomplish physical education? 

By a series of calisthenics arranged so as to exercise 
every portion of the body. 

In what way is mental advancement obtained? 

By such instruction as calls forth the reasoning powers 
of the pupils through judicious information and careful 
discussion. 

How are the artistic sensibilities appealed to? 

By the badges, standards and banners with graceful 
marching and exercises. 

Of what use are the recitations and responses ? 

They embody, in poetry and prose, choice expressions of 
great minds, — the truths thus impressed upon the memory 
awakening the understanding and gladdening the heart. 

What is the chief principle of our system ? 

Harmony. 

What is its particular manifestation ? 

Music and singing in which our unity of feeling -and 
purpose is at once symbolized and expressed. 

What is the invariable accompaniment of all our exer- 
cises ? 

Pleasure. That which is right is always delightful to 
the healthy spirit. 

Which office is the most important ? 

That of the Leaders, since upon them devolves the 
responsibility of directing and encouraging the young 
whose plastic minds are susceptible to every breath of 
influence. 

Kecall the duties of the children. 

Punctuality, order, attention, diligence and earnestness, 
subordination and obedience, kindness and self-restraint. 

What distinguishes the lyceum method from other modes 
of tuition? 

Its recognition of the intellectual rights, freedom and 

conditions of the young ; its comprehensiveness, variety and 

tolerance ; the scope it gives to individuality and its perfect 

accordance with the laws of Nature. 

What is its most characteristic quality? 

That it teaches a Eeligion of Reason, a creed without 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 109 

dogmas in a ritual whose only laws are Beauty and Truth 
and whose sole end is Goodness. 

What is its glorious aim ? 

The spiritual, moral and intellectual elevation of its 
members and through them of the world at large. 

Let us remember this and each recognizing the lofty 
standard of our commonwealth fulfill his and her part 
in faithful devotion. So shall we come to realize its superb 
ideal. E. E. T. 



LESSON L 

What Is a Progressive Lyceum? 

Question. — What is the Children's Progressive Lyceum ? 

Answe7\ — A liberal Sunday-school, established by An- 
drew Jackson Davis, which has proved to be the most 
complete organization ever used for juvenile Sunday 
instruction. 

Ques. — What is its object ? 

Ans. — To help boys and girls to grow into useful, wise, 
and good men and women. 

Ques. — How can thi«! be done? 

Ans. — By growing a strong, healthy body, an intelligent 
mind, and an individual spirit which will live forever. 

Ques. — If any one of these is neglected what is the 
result ? 

Ans. — An inharmonious person — who is unfit for the 
best work an individual should be able to do. 

Ques. — Should this growth of body, mind and spirit all 
be going on at the same time ? 

Ans. — Yes, and carefully directed. The Lyceum exer- 
cises are planned to produce growth in all these parts 
which build up exemplary men and women. 

Ques. — Should the instructions be practiced week days 
as well as Sundays ? 

Ans. — Certainly. Let all truths which you learn become 
a part of your lives. Practice what you think is good for 
yourself and others. 

Ques. — Is there any difference in nature between Sunday 
and the other days of the week ? 

Ans. — No. All the workings of nature go on just the 
same on all days. But man has endeavored to make it a 



110 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

day of rest, and that seems to be good for man and beast. 

Ques. — Will you try to carry out the plan of the Lyceum 
and receive the benefit? 

Ans. — Yes, we will try to grow into as good and useful 
people as boys and girls can make. We will help each 
other, and may angels guide and inspire us. 

Ques. — May not societies be organized on the Lyceum 
plan for the benefit of men and women as well as children, 
'^^d T-esult in great advancement at small financial cost? 

Ans. — Yes, this has been tried with great success. 

Ques. — What is the aim of Lyceum teachings? 

Ans. — To establish right over wrong, knowledge over 
ignorance, kindness over cruelty, and Justice over all. This 
will create a moral brotherhood the world needs. 



LESSON 11. 

Growth of the Body. 

Question. — ^What must be felt before one will begin to 
grow? 

Answer. — One must feel hunger. The first work any of 
us did in our lives was to eat. We did not then know why, 
but it was nature's way to make us grow. 

Ques. — But we continue to be hungry after we are grown 
to be men and women. Is that for growth ? 

Ans. — Oh yes, we must eat to sustain, to replace the 
parts of our bodies which we break down by exercise, work, 
or disease. The broken-down cells are thrown off and 
must be put in again. 

Ques. — How can this be done ? 

Ans. — By having our bodies in good condition to make 
use of the food we eat. 

Ques. — How can we prepare our bodies for this work ? 

Ans. — We must breathe pure air, night and day; be 
clean by taking baths; drink plenty of water; sleep, and 
be loving and good natured. 

Ques. — How can we know we are breathing pure air ? 

Ans. — We must have the outdoor air coming into the 
house, and the indoor air going out, all the time, night 
and day. 

Ques, — We call that ventilating a house, and it is just 



A GOLDEN SHEAF HI 

as necessary in our sleeping rooms as in our parlors and 

other living rooms. Can you tell us why? 

Ans— Because the air which is breathed over and over 

again is poisonous. It makes us ill and puts our bodies m 

bad condition. 

Qiies.— How does it make us leeli' , ^ ^ , _ 

Ans —We have headaches, our mouths taste bad, we are 

ill natured, and cannot digest our food. That prevents 

healthy growth. . , , . i. i. o 

Ques.— Why should we drmk plenty of water ;! 

4^5 —The blood needs it, and we should keep our inner 
bodies washed as well as our faces, hands, and the rest o± 
the outside of our soul-houses. , .„ , - 

Ques.—J)o anger, selfishness, and ill nature prevent 
healthy growth? ^ ^ ^ , , 

^^5._lYes. Hope, love, kindness and good nature help 
to make healthy, promising boys and girls. 



LESSON III. 
Mental Growth. 

Question.—WhSii is mind? 

Answer.— Mind is the sum of our processes of knowing, 
our feehngs of pleasure and pain, and our voluntary 

doings. 

Ques.— Who so defines mmd? 

^^^._Sullv, in Outlines of Psychology 

Qy^es—li this explanation is true is it not important 
that mind be cultivated in many ways, that it may be used 
to the best advantage for good results? 

Ans —It is the duty of individuals to the world, to try 
to grow minds which will safely direct to noble actions. 

n^g5._How should we begin? . .- - 

Ans.—We should first of all try to have good disposi- 
tions, wholesome desires, inclinations, thoughts and feel- 

Ques.— Why is this important? . , ur, ;i 

Ans.— These are the natural result of good health, and 

are steps by which we may advance safely m the path ot 

progress, secure mental growth, and attam mental excel- 

lence, 



112 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Ques. — Does mind mean spirit? 

Ans. — Mind is used to define the intellect chiefly. It is 
changed and improved when broadened by wisdom, tolera- 
tion and a sense of justice. It is unreliable when clouded 
by ignorance. 

Ques. — Can you think of any faculty which must be 
strengthened by cultivation so our minds can make what 
we learn practical ? 

Ans. — Yes ; one is memory. We must bear in mind what 
we have worked to learn. We must be ready, by remem- 
bering, to put our wisdom and common sense into every- 
day use. 

Ques. — Do you think of anything else which will help 
on good results ? 

Ans. — Yes, we should be able to "make up our minds" 
as to what is the best thing to do when we are about to act. 
We must learn to decide promptly and courageously. 

Ques. — You would not act on a one-sided look at the 
situation and needs, would you ? 

Ans. — Oh no, we would look quickly back, now, and 
ahead. 

Ques. — Can people act wisely, and with decision, when 
unexpected things occur, and there is no time to wait? 

Ans. — To know the laws of nature and to be ready to 
meet changes, accidents, or great good or bad fortune with 
stability and mental poise is the benefit of mental culture, 
and the golden fruit of strong and harmonious mental 
growth. 

Ques. — What traits are foes to mental growth ? 

Ans. — Self-conceit, intolerance, low-mindedness, envy 
and wasting strength to pay back wrongs. 

Ques. — ^What promotes mental progress and strength? 

Ans. — Hunger for truth. To be tolerant, broad-minded, 
meek, ready to learn and courageous to live our convic- 
tions. 



LESSON IV. 

Spiritual Growth. 

Question. — What is Spirit ? 

Answer. — Spirit is an animating and inspiring principle 
which pervades and directs the thoughts and actions of 
individuals. In this lesson it applies to moral force and to 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 113 

spiritual growth as productive of the highest type of human 
beings. 

Ques. — Do you understand that spirit belongs only to 
people? That all lives below the human are destitute of 
this fine force? 

Ans. — There is difference of opinion on this subject. 
We find unity, and a kind of brotherhood manifested 
throughout all conscious life. Man is not the only animal 
creation which manifests mutual intelligence, reason, and 
many of the high attributes of human beings. 

Ques. — What does this fact teach us? 

Ans. — That, although man has egotistically declared he 
is the only one of God's creatures possessing soul or spirit, 
his knowledge is limited, and we all have much yet to 
learn. 

Ques. — What then is our best way to be just to sub- 
humans ? 

Ans. — We know that they have physical wants, can suf- 
fer, be glad, resent abuse, appreciate honesty, be crushed by 
cruelty, be happy if treated kindly, and that our own 
spiritual growth is promoted by trying to make all lives 
happy as far as possible. We should observe, learn by 
what we see, and try to understand those animals which 
have feeling, but cannot use human language. 

Ques. — You are not to do this from selfish motives, but 
are you not benefited by so doing? 

Ans. — Yes. Spiritual growth will be greater for every 
manifestation of sympathy and justice. In helping others 
we help ourselves. 

Ques. — What is spiritualization ? 

Ans. — Spiritualization is the upbuilding of spirit as the 
supreme culmination of harmonious personal development. 

Ques. — Is spiritual growth aided by physical comfort and 
perfection ? 

Ans. — Yes. x\ healthy body is the sound basis for suc- 
cess, although spiritual strength may be attained without 
it. It may come in beauty through the gates of pain. But 
that is not the best way. 

Ques. — What is the lesson taught by pain ? 

Ans. — When one is physically uncomfortable something 
is wrong and should be corrected. Pain and discomfort 
depress vitality and keep us from doing our best. 

Ques. — What is it to be spiritually minded ? 

Ans, — To have spiritual tendencies and aspirations, not 



114 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

to be absorbed by physical things; to study philosophical 
spiritualism as a subject worthy of the spirit and equal to 
all its capabilities. 

Ques. — What characterizes a wise and refined spirit? 

Ans. — Depth and largeness of feeling. 

Ques. — What is the difference between mental and 
spiritual growth? 

Ans. — Spiritual growth is the possession and under- 
standing of things which have an eternal value. 

Ques. — You believe then that spirit may be either 
embodied or disembodied and retain its individuality? 

Ans. — Yes. And as the spirit may grow, and take its 
qualities into its immortal existence, the most desirable 
growth is toward characteristics which have eternal rela- 
tions and uses. 

Ques. — These characteristics, you think, will reach 
beyond the partnership of spirits with their bodies? 

Ans. — Yes. We believe that those who try every day to 
attain the highest spiritual growth make the best people 
on earth and the brightest angels in heaven. 

E E, T 
A EEGION OF CALMS. 

What do you think of the chances ahead 

For a life of sweet peace? 
May we hope there's a region of calms for the dead, 

Where the struggling will cease? 

What do you think of investments we make 

For our good over there? 
Don't you feel sure that the roses we break, 

Up in heaven bloom more fair? 

What do you think of the pain which we cause? 

Oft in ignorant ways; 
Must we not reap as we sow, by the laws 

Which do govern our days? 

Maybe it is idle to stop and inquire, 

While we're climbing along, 
But oh, we so long for a word to inspire, 

E'en a snatch of Hope's song! 

All things seem as shifting as shadows, a-chase; 

Strange blendings we find! 
An angel and devil behind the same face 

Make us weep ourselves blind! 

One day 'tis the saint, and the next day the fiend. 
Which assumes full command. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 115 

One day we 're extolled and the next day demeaned, 
Till we doubt where we stand. 

One hour we set sail in a cloud for a boat, 

"With the dreamiest friend, 
But anon he turns pirate and clutches our throat — 

A most consummate fiend! 

Indeed there is little which seems to remain 

As we hoped, at its best; 
We find talk is cheap and assumption but vain; 

There are none wholly blest. 

So, just for a pastime, I ask what you think 

Of the chances ahead. 
This rhyme is but wasting good paper and ink — 

Ahead lie the dead! E. B. T. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

I will sing this Christmas morn a song of gladness, 
however black the cloudy sky, biting the blasts, or dismal 
the snow-clad landscape extending over frozen fields to 
where the forest moans in the soughing wind. The very 
bleakness of nature has a joy, for it will not last, and the 
darkest day of winter is a prophecy of spring, with its full 
tide of awakened life, in song of bird, and bursting bud 
and bloom. If the heart is full of light, there can be no 
shadow across its portals, for shadows extend on the side 
of night and darkness. The world was made for happiness, 
and the perfection of living is the enjoyment of its full 
bounties. 

Ah ! there falls the shadow of the old religion ; the 
religion of pain and self-abnegation, which blotted the 
light of the sun from the heavens, and made present 
misery the means of future joy ! The founder of that 
religion was a man of sorrow. He wept, but never smiled. 
He died on the cross in an agony of spirit, responded to by 
the throes of nature, which rent the mountains and dis- 
turbed the sea. 

Our Pilgrim ancestors had this sad view intensely im- 
pressed on their minds. They were driven across a stormy 
ocean, and met a coast, somber in its dense evergreen 
forests, where the red Indian craftily disputed possession. 
In the heated imagination of these stern religionists, they 



116 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

were devils. Evil spirits lurked in the air ; Satan was ever 
present to snatch the soul to perdition; man, at best, was 
a feeble creature, utterly corrupt, depraved and sinful; 
God was angry, with an undying anger kindled by Adam 
when he ate of the forbidden fruit. Happiness here was 
only an allurement for which tenfold suffering would be 
demanded in the future. That was a terrible view of life, 
of nature, and of God, and its shadow reaches across these 
centuries to our time. It is just beginning to fade. If I 
had nothing else to be glad for, I would sing a rondeau 
for the departure of a religion which made life one long 
moan of pain, and preferred the caw of the raven, to the 
warble of the full-throated bird of song. The anger of 
God has gone ! The fires of the bottomless pit, over the 
steep edge of which rolled the endless tide of souls, lost 
and damned, vast and wide as the Amazon, are quenched, 
never to be rekindled. Dogmas and beliefs, cruel and 
remorseless, no more disturb the repose of the weary. All 
these goblins have had their day. We do not wonder that 
they who believed them, did not laugh; that they shud- 
dered in fear, and preferred the tonic of pain to the relaxa- 
tion of mirth. The chief joy the Puritan had was in being 
miserable, or seeing some one else so. He thought in the 
next life he would have glory in looking over the battle- 
ments of heaven to see the unbeliever writhe in the flames. 
That was his full conception of heaven! He felt himself 
so utterly debased, he would be supremely happy in the 
lowest place in the kingdom. 

Why describe that which has passed? Because I wish 
for a black background to reflect the religion of joy! a 
religion of joy that no soul is lost, or totally depraved; 
that in the fullness of time the lowest will be redeemed 
by the growth and balance of their faculties. There is no 
atonement, there is no forgiveness, but there is that which 
is better a thousand-fold — redemption by coming to a 
knowledge of the true and right, and adjusting the conduct 
of life to their requirements ! An individualized spirit is 
too precious a product of the great Life Tree to be cast 
away. It may be dwarfed and distorted by its environ- 
ments, but it has the latent possibilities of angelic growth. 

Nature has no impurities she has not the means of 
eliminating. See the crystal water! Is there anything 
more pure, and yet, can anything be made more unclean? 
The water which ascended in the mists drank by the warm 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 117 

sky from Pacific seas, reflecting the starry diadem of the 
heavens, falls in the rain which swells the mountain 
streams, and fills the reservoirs which slake the city'vS 
thirst. It flows down the gutters, and sewers reeking with 
unmentionable contamination, and rushes in a seething 
tide to reach the sea. There, with all its foul abomination, 
the sparkling waves clap their hands to receive it. Ten 
thousand thousand animalculse seize on the particles it 
bears; the tempests lash it with the fierce winds of their 
wrath, and the impatient sunlight beats down its impuri- 
ties to the oozy slime of the great sea floor. Again, it is as 
pure as on creation's morn, reflecting the light of the sun 
by day as from an emerald mirror, and the silent watch- 
fires of the stars by night, ready to fly away again to the 
clouds, and paint the radiant bow of promise over the 
waste of the storm, remaining ever a type of purity, sweet- 
ness, nobility and strength. 

I heard a story once which thrilled me with the con- 
sciousness that it was more than a simple tale, a real 
revelation of the heritage of the degraded. A little child 
was lost from a wealthy home, where it was cradled in the 
arms of affection, and attended by the unwearying feet of 
love. Like the waters of a cloud, his life was made to flow 
through the many cesspools of depraved associations. Un- 
feeling masters forced him to beg bread for himself and 
for their wants, and at last he became a "sweep," and 
driven with curses and blows to his disagreeable task. 
One day, thus descending a tall chimney, he came to an 
open grate, and passed through into the room. It had a 
strangely familiar appearance, although the elegant fur- 
nishing bewildered him. He was weary, ill and disheart- 
ened. On every hand he met abuse, and never a word of 
encouragement. He threw himself on the snowy bed. 
The silence, the softness of the air, the agreeable warmth, 
lulled his senses and he slept. Then the mother came into 
the room. She saw on the white couch the soot-begrimed 
boy, in his soiled and ragged dress. There was in that sad 
face something that reminded her of the child she had lost 
years before. She bent low, with bated breath, and scarcely 
beating heart ; recognized her own, and kissed the stained 
cheeks white with the lips of love. 

As the lily distils from the reeking slime the marble 
whiteness of its petals, and the perfume which fills the air 
around it, so methinks the angels will find, even in the life 



118 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

that seems most hopeless in the despair of its degradation, 
that out of which something more white and fragrant than 
the lily may appear. 

Whatever may be our judgment here, when we transport 
it to the highlands of immortal life, we dare not think 
otherwise than that there the accidents of time, its scars 
and stains, and the soil of the years, will disappear. 
Whether the sun shines today, or the storm prevails, our 
hearts are glad; for we know that days of sunshine will 
come at their appointed time. 



THE TRUE EDUCATION. 

It was Pestalozzi's opinion that education of some sort 
should begin from the cradle. One of our modern philos- 
ophers antedates that and says a child's education should 
begin one hundred years before it is born. True, we can do 
nothing for the children now here in the way of prenatal 
education, but we can benefit the children to be born an 
hundred years hence by educating aright the children of 
today. 

The child is the prime factor in solving many important 
problems. It is the base of the individual, and individuals 
are the units which, combined, give us world-conditions. 
Good individuals give us world-betterment. Bad ones 
produce world-deterioration. So child study is the great 
problem of the century. Education should promote growth, 
physically, intellectually and morally ; steady growth from 
the kindergarten on through the university. We want 
physical growth and instructors who will not do anything 
to interfere with it. True, they are not feeding the stu- 
dents, but they may unwittingly do many things which 
interfere with the laws of health and thus prevent the best 
physical development. Some teachers starve the students 
for fresh, pure air ; — some keep them in during recess as a 
punishment, — or detain them after school. These things 
may seriously effect health and ability to learn. The mind 
cannot act clearly when the body is uncomfortable. 

The individual well equipped with a strong, normally 
shaped body has the working basis of a life of usefulness 
and independence. Exercise, but not exercise full of dan- 
ger, liable to mar or destroy the body, so valuable to the 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 119 

home, country, nation, and which has been grown at such 
cost, should be taken. But the games which annul all 
moral responsibility, and turn sane lads into temporary 
lunatics, are too costly, and cultivate in the wrong direc- 
tion. They are good training for hazing when the boys 
enter college, if ever. The Catholic institutions do not 
allow this last named sin ; — they can control their students 
— why cannot the Protestants ? Do the college authorities 
try to repress it? Or do they shut their eyes and say, 
*^Boys will be boys.^' I would not send a child to a school 
where it is allowed, for I should not have confidence in 
the good sense or moral status of the management. 

Intellectual education is the one thing never overlooked 
in our schools. Too often we see bright minds but weak 
bodies. We have straining as well as training, overcrowd- 
ing and collapses. We want goodness as well as brightness. 
It is just as useful and should be cultivated constantly. 
Our teachers should be required to be versed in this part of 
education. Unfortunately, it is not in our curriculum. 
Spencer says, "Strangely enough the most glaring defect 
in our program of education is entirely overlooked. . . . 
To prepare the young for the duties of life is tacitly 
admitted by all to be the end which parents and school- 
masters should have in view." 

Whether as bearing upon the happiness of parents them- 
selves, or whether as affecting the characters and lives of 
their children and remote descendants, we must admit that 
a knowledge of the right methods of juvenile culture, 
physical, intellectual, and moral, is a knowledge second to 
none in importance. This topic should occupy the highest 
and last place in the course of instruction passed through 
by each man and woman, especially those who expect to be 
professional educators. 

Care is taken to fit youth for society and citizenship, but 
no care whatever to fit them for the still more responsible 
position of parents, — the heads of homes. It seems to be 
the prevailing idea that for this no preparation is needed. 
They are supposed to be born with all that wisdom in 
them, which is a great mistake. It is a complex con- 
tingency which comes to nine out of every ten and to fill 
the position well requires that the three lines of education, 
physical, intellectual and moral should be worked together, 
constantly, through all the years devoted to learning to 
live, which is the true aim of study. The requisite quail- 



120 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

fication for this, or the leading up to it, should be fur- 
nished in our schools. How much it is needed is made 
plain by the great number of divorces and unjustly treated 
children. 

There is plenty of effort to fit the boy to appear like a 
gentleman; no means spared to adorn girls with the graces 
and accomplishments which fit them for society, but the 
genuine character-building which will fit them for half- 
partner in a home where they can be trusted, and be prime 
factors in the welfare of the nation, is yet only an ideal in 
the minds of those who see the need of better methods. 

SUPER-SENSITIVE. 

When I have gone forward 

To regions unknown, 
Life's panic all over, 

The last blast blown, 
Oh, friends, hold to loving 

The best that I was; 
Eemember all failings 

Have adequate cause. 

My heart is too large 

For this world I am in; 
If the helpless are borne down 

I battle the sin. 
I can not sit easy, 

With comforts about. 
And know that my fellows 

Are doing without. 

I sit by my fire 

While my dumb creatures freeze? 
I feast and grow strong 

While they bellow and teaze? 
Oh, no! I must give 

Of my strength and my store 
Till the thanks in their eyes 

Tell their needs goad no more. 

Not egoism for me — 

Everything for the I — 
But each for the othersj 

That gospel I cry. 
I am not all there is. 

And I care not to be; 
I can pocket some wants 

To be kind and hand-free. 

*'Shut your eyes and don't worry/' 
The hardened ones say; 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 121 

**Your life is immortal, 

They live for a day." 
"So much the more need then," 

I sharply reply, 
"Their lives be made pleasant: 

Tomorrow they die." 

The unsympathetic, 

Incrusted in ice. 
May live undisturbed 

By e'en murderous vice. 
But I am not longing 

To be so complete 
That I heed not the wounded 

Who lie at my feet. E. E. T. 



CONSOLATION AT THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

I come to you in this hour of your profound grief, to 
give you some words of comfort; some healing balm for 
your lacerated hearts. It were easy to dilate on your great 
loss, and strike deeper the fountain of your bitter tears; 
more difficult to dry your eyes, assuage the anguish of 
your broken hearts with assurance that there is yet for you 
light, and joy; that justice and love rule the world. 

The child you received as a priceless gift from heaven, 
whom you had cared for as the most tender flower, guard- 
ing from every harm, faded as stricken bud by untimely 
frost; faded and passed out of your arms. So gently, so 
peacefully, that you knew not when your bird of song had 
flown through the broken bars, leaving the waxen form — 
dead ! You cry out against the injustice of giving you such 
promise of future joy, such high anticipations; such a 
wealth of expectation, to dash your shrine in ruins, and 
leave every heart-string quivering from the rude hand of 
pain. 

When I have stood by the grave of one who departed 
crowned with the fruitage of the fullness of years; who 
had enjoyed life's cup to full measure and received all the 
benefits it could give, it has seemed to me that it was a 
fitting end, and it was right for the ripened sheaf to be 
garnered; for the fruit of the spring blossom to fall in the 
maturity of autumn. But now it is the blossom itself 
which is gathered and all earthly experiences are made 
impossible. Where can we turn to find comforting assur- 
ance, and still the sharp cry of regret? 



122 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

We can never be comforted if we remain in the valley 
with our grief. When our view is narrowed to the small 
circle of ourselves, our present wants and expectations, 
whatever antagonizes' or thwarts our purposes appears 
unjust and the order of events wrong beyond expression. 

If, however, we come up out of the valley to the moun- 
tain top, where the boundless arch extends to the infinite 
horizon, our view broadens and we find that although there 
are shadows in the valleys, and darkness in deepest gorges, 
behind jutting rocks and overhanging crags, above all, over 
all, pours in full tide the unmeasured light. When we 
learn the full meaning of life and death, we shall find, that 
whether a spirit departs in childhood or old age, it meets 
no loss, only gain. Even our regrets pass with the shadow 
of our ignorance. Eegrets we have which sting like the 
bite of an adder ; for we never cease thinking that had this 
or that been done, or not done, the result would not have 
been so deplorable. Peace should come to your souls that 
you did what you at the time thought best, and it could 
not have been otherwise. 

The spirit comes into this existence with a physical body 
as a necessity of its evolution. That body is the bridge it 
passes over into the immortal state. What counts the 
bridge after the spirit is safely over ? It may have been a 
year, ten years, a century in passing, or it may have been 
an hour, yet it is safely over. Are the experiences of 
earthly life so advantageous or essential that we sob out our 
grief that our darling is deprived of them ? 

Oh, father and mother, as you have looked on your child, 
and thought of the pathway you have toiled over to gain 
your present years, and how it must follow, have you not 
said in your heart, "Oh, little feet, how many, many years 
you must walk in weariness! What flinty pathways and 
thorny roads you must traverse, to reach the end! Oh, 
little hands, with what aching strain you will do your 
tasks and bear your burdens !'^ 

This life may have great happiness; it may be full of 
misery. You loved your child and felt assured that it was 
so sweet and angelic only an angel's enjoyment would fol- 
low. You are not sure, and such misfortunes might have 
befallen, that you would wonder why you desired it to 
remain. Who can tell us of the future of any child ? We 
know, however, that its life must be one long struggle, and 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 123 

in the end it will only have crossed over a very narrow 
stream. 

If the blessed child went from this life without its 
experiences, it also went without tasting the bitterness of 
the cup pressed to so many lips. It went unburdened, 
unstained, and if it had learned nothing, it has nothing 
to unlearn. It has no sodden influences to hold it back and 
bind it to earth. 

So soon meeting the second birth into the higher life! 
So soon to enter the school of angels ! 

And you, mother, have asked repeatedly who will receive 
the darling spirit? Will it not be frightened at the new 
life and the new faces? "Oh, if I were only there to 
comfort her,'' you have repeated from pillow wet with 
tears. As you received her with loving arms into this life, 
spirit friends received her into theirs, and their smiling 
faces gave her peace and rest. In the perfect growth of 
that higher life, there will be no shadows, or failures. She 
will be cared for by a love which asks no further recom- 
pense than the high privilege of doing, as the sun shines in 
the dome of the sky giving all and receiving nothing. She 
will grow tall and beautiful as a dream of loveliness with 
such associates as earth cannot give. 

To leave you ? to forget you ? never ; for to come to you 
when your hearts call her will be her pleasure. 

And the 3^ears will go by, even to the end of your earthly 
lives. 

When you meet her will you know her? How and by 
what sign ? Had she left you in this life for some distant 
country and after years returned, how would you have 
recognized her? In appearance changed, but held by the 
same strands of undying affection. You will not have to 
inquire, for she will stand near, even within the portal to 
take your hands with the warm pressure of her affection 
and lead you into the circle of welcoming friends. 



THE PASSING OF "OUR FIRST FLEDGLING." 

Rose was our first baby. She suited us exactly the first 
time we looked at her, and there was never a moment when 
we felt we could do without her. She was so affectionate, 
so responsive, so capable.. But we are living and she is 
•gone. She went to immortal life on the night of December 



124 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

31st, at a little past twelve o'clock. Her home was "The 
White House On the Hill/' less than half a mile away 
from the old homestead where she was born, and where her 
happy childhood and girlhood was spent. Her father was 
born on the same spot also. She used to say, "I'm never 
going to live out of sight of the old place ! It looks so good 
tome!" 

She came to us almost every day, driving by and always 
stopping to give a cheery call if business called her further 
on. I never saw her come that I did not thrill with joy. 

The most of her life was spent in Berlin. After her 
first marriage she lived a few years in Chicago where her 
first child Emma Clair Crocker was born and died a year 
later in Berlin while she was visiting her parents at her 
old home. 

The bodies of mother and daughter now rest side by 
side and their souls are reunited in the land we cannot see. 
Dear Rose saw Emma Claire many times during her ill- 
ness, grown up and beautiful. She described her and told 
what she said. 

I wish to say a few things especially to the dear home 
friends of Berlin, who were so tenderly thoughtful to her 
after it was known that her stay was uncertain; that the 
brave, busy little mother and home keeper, was really very 
iU. Our other close friends, seen and unseen, will read 
with interest also. She herself never was told that she had 
been pronounced incurable. She hoped. We wished it so. 

Christmas day, after she had passed its pleasant hours 
in her home surrounded by flowers, and other gifts, every 
one of which she petted with her dear thin hands, telling 
about the givers, etc. I said to her as I was going away, 
"Rose, don't you want me to send a note about your Xmas 
to our home paper?" "I wish you would, ma," she 
answered. People have all been so kind to me, I know 
they'd like to know how I am getting along." So I sent 
a snap shot of that precious day on which the gave her 
last little love tokens to her dear ones there with her. She 
was bright, talkative, happy, and made plans for some 
visits when she was a little stronger. We hoped she might 
live her dreams, one of which was to "go down home." 

So I know, loving her friends as she did, she will want 
them to know the particulars of how she made the transit 
to angel land. That the effort to obtain surgical help in 
Cleveland was disappointing, and that the learned Dr. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 125 

Parker said, after making an incision, "It is useless; all 
you can do is to make her comfortable while she lives. I 
cannot tell you how sorry I am to say this/' She never 
knew. She had a strong bent to always hope, and expect 
good. With her three little ones about her, how could we 
wish her to know she was doomed to leave them in other 
hands ? As it was, her last days were, most of the time, 
happy and full of pleasant plans and happy dreams. 

We knew the destroyer, hidden although it was, to be 
still working, and a collapse liable to come at any time 
in the way of hemorrhage. Oh, how precious every word, 
every look, every second of time seemed to us. And we 
must smile, and keep her hopeful and unsuspecting, or 
break her heart. Yet she made many remarks which told 
us she was wiser than we knew. She said she had had 
a presentiment for a year that she was not going to live. 
Three days after her last holiday, the disease showed 
alarming progress and her brother, Dr. Tuttle, knew the 
collapse was nearing. She chose the bed, did not wish to 
be carried down stairs. She talked so sweetly of her 
friends, watched our comfort, but grew much weaker. 
Friday morning when Madge, her daughter, came she said, 
"I want you near while I stay." Friday morning she said 
to her mother, "Nothing can help me ; this is fatal." She 
saw at different times several spirit friends, with great 
pleasure As the end was nearing she said she was happy, 
but hated to go. Dear little mother, why should she not 
hate to go? She also said, "I am going home a little past 
twelve." And she did, with a smile on her dear, thm face 
which we hope deepened by angel welcomes. 

Dearest, truest, most loving daughter, wife, mother 
friend. Too self-abnegating to bide longer m this world 
of unequal chances. ^ 

The last sad rites were held at the residence January 
4th 1905, and were attended by a large assembly. The 
occasion was made as beautiful as decorations could cause 
it to be The loved lady, whose last reception it was, lay 
on a white couch casket, robed in the sheerest white silk, 
with a rose in her hair, a few long stemmed white roses m 
one hand and a filmy lace handkerchief in the other by her 
side The illusion about her neck was fastened at the waist 
by a beautiful bunch of violets. The couch was wreathed 
with ropes of roses and smilax and the picture of the sleep- 
ing one, and her surroundings, was a dream never to be 



126 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

forgotten. There was an opulence of floral tributes of 
great beauty from various sources. Hon. W. D. Johnson 
gave the address, which was a gem of literary merit full of 
consolation. 

Mrs. A. Husted, of Norfolk, sang to the piano accom- 
paniment of Mrs. Jessie Connor, very artistic and tender 
selections. 

Mrs. Husted and Rose were girlhood friends. 

We can but feel that the transition of this dear woman 
has marked our days for sorrow, which we pray her angel 
companionship may lighten. She was so responsive in all 
the relations of life that she was an ideal friend and caught 
the hearts of all who really knew her, and held them 
through all vicissitudes. She unconsciously made herself 
a necessity which could not be relinquished. 

She was a lover of home and family, and never sacrificed 
them to social ambition. She was ranked with the best 
and truest women of her native town. She, with her hus- 
band, took pleasure in making a hospitable, attractive 
home, where he and the bereft little ones still live, al- 
though the mistress of the house has become invisible. 
She has not deserted it, we fondly believe, nor her mortal 
friends who love her as of old. Since she went I wrote: 



CONFUSED. 

I turn to my world as it used to be, 

With you in your buoyant prime. 
O, glow and bloom of the yesterdays 

In their royalist flowering time! 
I grope about for a bunch of words 

To place so your angel eyes 
May read my love when you come to me 

From Violet Vale in the skies. 

I long, with almost a frenzied sense, 

For something a part of me, 
Which melted away to a shape unseen 

Through a strange, white mystery. 
A longer earth-life was due you, dear. 

But you gave with too free a hand 
Of your own grand self. Justice treated you 

Like a plundering, rough brigand! 

And I who love you, and used to prate 
How the well-earned dues will come, 

Stood by and saw it was all a lie, 
And Death strikes my darling dumb. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 127 

My dreams about Nature's tenderness, 

And how Goodness is sure to win, 
Were disappointing. I came to know 

Most roses are thrown to Sin. 

Like one struck blind in a labyrinth 

Of laws which I cannot trace, 
I feel that a heart, supersensitive. 

Is matter quite out of place. 
Yet, bearing a half -dead hope, I search, 

With a hunger consuming me. 
For a clear-cut proof that our greatest want 

Is God's law— IMMORTALITY! 

And there is a world full of folks like me. 

With the same old ache in the heart, 
Who wander about in a tense research 

To find the immortal part. 
And yet, and yet, we can only wait 

For time to reveal the whole 
Of the way God answers the fathomless wants 

Of a hungry human soul. 

I fly from my world as it used to be 

To the one which we enter next, 
And I ask, "May my angels comfort me? 

I am lonesome and sore perplexed. 
There is strange confusion of good and bad; 

Of wisdom and ignorance. 
See! the selfish thrive, and the good are crushed, 

But Justice takes no offense ! ' ' 

In Violet Vale in my world-to-be — 

For I know you are living there — 
How perfect must be the rest to see 

No doubt flying anywhere! 
The soul immortalized, all the dread 

Of death in the world below — 
Now read the words I would have you see — 
*'MY DARLING, I LOVE YOU SO! " 

E. R. T. 



A DEAD WORLD— A PRESCIENT VISION. 

On a battlement overlooking an immensity of space, 
two angels sat in converse. Graceful beyond conception 
was their beauty and youth which had been perfected 
by centuries of experience which left not the footprints of 
age. The firmament flashed with stars, among which 
appeared one with ashen light, pale as the phosphorescence 
of a fire-fly. 



128 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

"The earth grows dim even in its reflected light/^ ex- 
claimed one of these beings whom we shall know as Aimee. 

"Do you remember we once went there on a mission? 
So long ago, so very long ago, that a new race must have 
sprung up in the place of the one that made it so beautiful, 
with cultivated fields and delightful homes." 

"It is a dying world, in its last throes," replied Alzar, 
her companion. "It is a sublime fancy, the birth, maturity 
and death of worlds." 

"Ah, yes, a dead world is a most awful spectacle. So 
vast the desolation; so inevitable the action of the forces 
which are employed, one is appalled in its contemplation. 
Worlds die of one disease, the waste of their forces, and 
this was accelerated on the earth by the officiousness of its 
inhabitants." 

"Were they of the same race as those we saw there?" 

"The same; but they had not then entered on their 
swift downward career. They were wise, yet they did not 
forecast the future and guard against the results of their 
actions." 

"Incalculable millions of years were required to perfect 
the earth for the residence of man. The beginning was 
fire-mist, out of which the budding planet condensed all 
the elements in heterogeneous combination. In the seeth- 
ing caldron of the steaming ocean, and heated azoic rocks 
crystallization went on, and in the ooze of a cooler sea, 
life came in its lowest form as a fleck of protoplasm.^' 

"As a living being?" 

"Oh, no, only as living matter; as a substance capable 
of entering into living forms; living, but unorganized 
protoplasm." 

"And the spirit of God moved on the face of the great 
deep, and it swarmed with fishes." said Aimee, solemnly. 

"As you please to state it. The breath of infinite pur- 
pose went forth and the sea swarmed, but it required time, 
so long the years fail to measure it, for by the slow work 
of the pre-silurian ocean, quite ten miles of rocky crust 
was formed beneath that sea, in which the shell and scale 
were embalmed, before there came any being higher than 
fish with plated armor; while yet the black landscape of 
crumbling rocks was wrapped in blacker clouds. 

"That was the beginning, and I care not to relate the 
history of advance until man came as the perfect fruitage 
of this tree of life, which, like the fabled ash of Norse 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 129 

mythology, strikes its roots to the foundation of things 
and extends its branches to the heavens. 

Man came as the last link in this chain of beings; the 
born heir of the fruitage of the ages. He was the favored 
child of nature, for she had given him not only a keen 
intellect which by growth made him as a god, she had 
evolved by a wondrous process from her creeping, crawl- 
ing brood, one form, erect, with hands freed from other 
uses, able to perform the dictates of his will. The adapt- 
ability of that hand is of almost equal value to the intel- 
lect which controls it. Nature had equipped him phys- 
ically and mentally as a king and gave him a regal legacy, 
to be multiplied by his labor. How he destroyed his 
patrimony and reduced the earth to a desert on which no 
living thing remained and all forces were expended, is the 
sad story of a dead world." 

"And the story — am I not to hear it ?" 

"You shall hear it, though not to weary you. I will 
dwell only on the more salient points. For many ages the 
clans and tribes in which the wild man associated for 
protection, smote each other, and with the uncertainty of 
gaining food and the buffetings of the weather, there was 
slow increase, for like wild beasts they met their enemies, 
and the stronger struck down the weaker. But as grow- 
ing intelligence stimulated the cultivation of the soil and 
provided better means of protection, the population rap- 
idly increased and had it not been for frequent wars and 
pestilence the food supply would have been constantly 
exceeded and famine a continuous attendant. Inventive 
skill was stimulated to create weapons of offense and de- 
fense. The club became a spear, and at length a sword 
and bayonet; the bow became a rifle; the sling a catapult 
and cannon; the canoe an armored battleship. 

"The means of defense kept pace with those of offense 
until terrible explosives were discovered, in which the 
energies of a million genii of destruction were concen- 
trated. War became wholesale murder; valor and courage, 
foolhardiness, and peace was maintained by arbitration 
because the nations did not dare engage in conflict which 
would be sure annihilation and in which bravery received 
no reward. Then it was that with the arts of peace, the 
population became crowded and men sought on every side 
for the wealth stored by preceding ages. They were not 
content with the power of their own hands, they harnessed 



130 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

the heat of the sun, which had been stored away in seem- 
ingly exhaustless beds of coal, beaten out of the gaseous 
combinations by the arrows of light. These stores were 
deeply imbedded under plains, or in the breasts of moun- 
tains, and with wondrous skill they ran shafts through 
flinty rocks into the most concealed recesses and wrenched 
wealth from the grasp of Nature. The infusoria of some 
remote time had clothed themselves with iron shells and 
falling to the oozy bottom of widely extended lakes, were 
melted into ore and upheaved in mountains by volcanic 
force. This ore gave the metal by which the solar energy 
might be retained and made a slave. Mountains of iron 
and continents of coal the ephemeral man said were suf- 
ficient for all time. 

"Man found forests forming a home for innumerable 
animals, which furnished him with food and raiment. 

"As the forest interfered with cultivation, he destroyed 
it; the giant oak and redwood, counting their ages by 
centuries, were not spared. The forest became a cultivated 
plain; the wild animals perished and the songs of birds 
were not heard. 

"The restless people were seized with a desire to be 
somewhere, anywhere else than where they were. They 
ate not the products of their own, but of foreign coun- 
tries. To facilitate this transfer, which they called com- 
merce, they connected their towns and cities with roads of 
steel and ships hammered from that metal sailed in every 
direction across the seas. They were not satisfied with 
the existing order of things and like swarming ants fiercely 
labored to change the face of the earth. 

"They turned the course of the rivers; cut passages 
through mountains for their roads; bored deep for the 
treasure of gas and oil the great earth-alembic had dis- 
tilled drop by drop from the remains of primal organisms 
and stored, hermetically sealed in the bosom of the rocks, 
unaffected by convulsions which rent the contorted surface. 

"They crushed mountains for the fragments of gold 
and silver and filled the valleys with the debris. No 
obstacle daunted their courage, no achievement exceeded 
their ambition. Once they cringed in fear at the angry 
flash of the lightning, or maddened, shot arrows into the 
bosom of the tempest; they lost their fear and mocking 
the storm, caught its hurtling bolt and sent it around the 
world as messenger, or chained it to menial labor. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 131 

"With machines they cultivated the earth and it gave 
fabulous harvests. For a time the food supply, like the 
coal and iron, appeared inexhaustible, and the Malthusian 
law was set at defiance. There was so much grain that it 
rotted in the fields, or was used for fuel; the cake in the 
oven was baked by an equal part in the grate, yet greater 
quantities were transformed into liquor which was likd 
fire to the taste and inflamed the blood. The nervous 
tension in the mad race for power and preferment was 
sustained by its use, although millions were goaded to 
madness and destroyed. 

"The earth had been many eons gathering the forces of 
the sun, but the prodigal race wasted this inheritance so 
wantonly that the acquisition of a thousand years sufficed 
not for a single circle of the sun. The surface was de- 
nuded of its forests further and further to the North, 
even to the borders of the northern ice-fields. The coal 
was mined until the crust fell in on the careless delvers. 
The narrowest seams were patiently explored and even 
the refuse assorted. The ores of iron became exhausted 
and the mines of precious metals gave no returns. The 
soil which had filled granaries to bursting with its prod- 
ucts; the grain which roared in cataracts into waiting 
ships and endless trains of cars, gave less and less return 
to the hand of labor. It had been forced to bear a double 
burden, for by the agency of electric light it had been 
given no rest by night, and vegetation forced to grow con- 
tinually, had drained its precious elements to exhaustion 
and the sewers of the cities had washed them into the sea 
from which they could not be regained. 

"The harvests failed to ripen and the fruits to mature. 
The climate had been affected by the wrought changes 
which had reference to the whims of man and not to the 
order of the earth. As the mineral veins in the rock- 
crust had been deposited by magnetic currents, their dis- 
turbance interrupted the flow of these and the iron roads 
and innumerable wires changed their course and volume 
leading to great climatic changes, tornadoes, storms and 
extreme vicissitudes of weather. The fettered lightning 
was avenged by its magnetic relative, for the surging, 
molten center, yet retaining the heat of the fire-cloud, re- 
leased from the restraining hand of these currents which 
gave direction to its motions, burst through the ancient 
volcanic vents and shook the earth until its cities toppled 



132 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

in ruins and the ocean swept in vast waves far over the 
land. 

"The constant succession of disasters, the decimation of 
the plague; the ruin wrought by the earthquakes and suf- 
focation by volcanic gases; the increasing scarcity of food 
from the beggared soil; the feeling that everything had 
reached senility, was worn out and sick unto death, cast 
the gloom of despair over the minds of the once gay and 
opulent people. 

"At last the harvests utterly failed and the pitiful cry of 
hunger was moaned from countless lips, and hands were 
lifted to a God who was silent. That was a dreadful spec- 
tacle of a starving world ! No rescue, no relief ! Cities 
desolate and in ruins, their citizens fell exhausted in 
the streets and there were none to remove them. The 
streets were strewn with the dead. There were dead fam- 
ilies in every house where affection clasped its gaunt arms 
in last embrace around those it loved." 

"Ah, now we come to the highly sensational part of 
your narrative," said Aimee. "I guess your plot before 
its denouement, which, you must confess, shows how un- 
skillfully you have woven it. Two romantic young peo- 
ple — in love, of course — emphatically in love, regardless 
of the discouragements of plague and famine, remain, 
alone in all the world, and because there was no one to 
marry them, pledge eternal fidelity and die in each other's 
embrace." 

"No, you have completely failed. The last of all these 
swarming people was a mother and her babe. She had 
wandered from the city's streets out into the suburbs, 
where villas and palaces with grounds on which art had 
lavished its utmost skill, were on every side. She slowly 
wended her way into the open country where the gardens 
were which had supplied the markets. In utter weari- 
ness she threw herself under a tree, leafless and dead, for 
it, too, had starved in the barren soil. The earth trem- 
bled as in fear and the brazen heavens mocked the change 
from beauty, peace and opulence, to death. The mother 
searched for some herb that might appease her intolerable 
desire for food; there was not a blade of grass or a weed. 

"The babe moaned, and the mother drew its thin lips 
to her bosom for the last drop of nourishment, and while 
it nursed, with the coma which gives no sign, she died. 

"The babe slept on its dead mother's breast, and when 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 133 

the chill of evening came with the low sun, it awoke, 
moaned faintly, and when the stars came in the sky, they 
looked down pityingly, as its life at the midnight hour 
went out in a quiver of pain/' 

"What has it all availed ?" queried Aimee ; "what good 
has come of this earth, with its ages of agony and pain? 
It has reached its end, a barren world swinging in dark- 
ness through space and for what object? What end and 
purpose has been attained?'' 

"Its cycle is not yet complete. Exhausted of its vital 
force, it will after a time fall into the sun, into which all 
planets and comets with the dust-swarms of space will ul- 
timately fall and thereby become again dissipated in fire- 
mist and a new cycle of change begin." 

"Oh, it is wearisome this ceaseless change! I would 
rather contemplate cessation and rest." 

"There is a purpose and an end attained. As the per- 
fume escapes from the flower, so the spirit arises out of 
the conflict, and while the earth perishes, it is indestructi- 
ble. After the fruit is gathered would you say the tree 
has no cause for being? The purpose of creation as ex- 
pressed by evolution, has for its first term protoplasm, its 
last, an angel endowed with immortality." 

The milky way spanned the sky and before them was a 
planet glowing with soft light. The earth disappeared 
behind a cloud of meteors. 

They arose and as a thought flashes through space, they 
went their way. 

THE INSTINCT OF LIFE. 

Go on with your pleasures, my dear ones, 

The world is as fair to your view ^ 
As when from the hilltops, in Maytime, 

I saw it a-glitter with dew. 
The visions of Hope were resplendent; 

There were dream-crested mountains to climb, 
And valleys a-bloom, far beyond them, 

Where life might be wholly sublime. 

The moon sailed the blue in the night time, 

The stars twinkled off in the sky. 
And my head never ached, as it now does, 

With solving the How and the Why. 
Life's keenest delight was in action; 

Eesults were not planned as exact, 
Nor movements economized strictly 

To bring us the things we most lacked. 



134 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

The instinct of life is toward motion, 

Not for plans to achieve, nor to shirk, 
Not horror about the two demons, 

Out-of-Work and his twin Overwork. 
So if youth's wild uneasiness frets us. 

Remember 'tis life in full play; 
The birds sing, the leaves dance, the winds laugh, 

And everything has its heyday. 

We may not see where the good gain shows. 

But a manifestation it is 
Of the soul of the universe, stirring 

Matter into fine ecstasies. 
"Be quiet! " the mandate of Death is, 

"Be active!" the fiat of Life, 
Let us smile in activity's tumult. 

And step to the drum and the fife. E. R. T. 



SELF UNMADE PEOPLE. 

There is a prospect of growth in embracing a religion 
which invites investigation, is ready to answer questions, 
represents all reforms, and keeps abreast of progress, 
philosophy and reason: a religion which is not limited, is 
expansive, tolerant and uplifting. 

Our religion began by asking questions: it has grown 
by keeping them up, and no one of its teachers has ever 
tried to stop the questioning spirit, nor laid the dis- 
position to doubt what is not proven to the devil. It is 
a free-for-all gospel, the aim of which is individual per- 
fection. 

Its main object is, not to put, after death, beautiful 
angels into a remote heaven, but to have perfect souls in 
perfect bodies here on this earth. It is the only insurance 
policy which can be taken out on angelhood after death, 
and it is an unfailing insurance; no possibility of bank- 
ruptcy and no fraudulent agents between the soul and its 
God. 

While we are singing of lily-crowned angelhood. 

White souled and high in the sweet by-and-by, 
Were it not best that we earnestly work for good 

As the days pass, and not wait till we die? 
Helpful words, noble deeds, tender and dutiful, 

Falling like light where a heart groweth faint, 
Are in a mortal as holy and beautiful 

As in the disenthralled soul of a saint. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 135 

Angels are beings more near to perfection 

Than idlers, who sing, dress in clouds, and crowns wear; 

They have risen to glory through stern self -correction, 
Continued in regions past mortal compare. 

Do you ask how this religion of science differs from 
creedal religion? 

I answer in its recognition of intellectual rights, the 
scope it gives to individuality, and its perfect accordance 
with the laws of nature. 

It demands the spiritual, moral and intellectual eleva- 
tion of its adherents as a sure method of advancing the 
world at large. 

Its believers are expected to make just as great and good 

men and women of themselves as their size will permit 

and to be as comfortable and as happy as they can be 

and not selfishly encroach upon the rights of others. 

Last winter I attended a revival meeting in one of our 

town churches. The evangelist was Eev. , of Oberlin. 

He was a mercurial little gentleman with "ginger in his 
eye." His subject was Law and Grace. In applying it 
to family government he said the most unquestioning 
obedience should be enforced. "The God of Moses en- 
forced it when He said the man who picked up a few 
sticks on Sunday should be stoned to death/' he argued. 
On one occasion his own little 2-year-old baby was tod- 
dling across the floor and laid a book down on the car- 
pet. He told the little fellow to pick it up and bring 
it to him. The baby looked at him, ducked his head, 
and said "n-yah !" 

He could not talk, he did not know what "pick up" 
and "bring" meant. So he blankly said "n-yah !" 

The reverend father took it for sauciness and repeated 
his command. "N-yah!" said the baby. He could not 
get it through his little head. 

For two long hours the great evangelist punished his 
baby to make him bring the book, and to get the "n-yah !" 
out of him. And he said he considered it the most Chris- 
tian two hours work he ever did. 

The religion of science does not recommend whipping 
the "n-yah" out of children, nor choking it out of grown- 
ups. It protests against blind obedience. 

The safest and most reliable persons are those whose 
reason precedes action. It follows that if we evolve such 



136 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

men and women from children we must allow them to 
reason before acting. 

We hear a great deal about self-made men and women. 
Do we ever think how many self -unmade people there are, 
and why characters topple easily? It is because they 
are not builded wisely. They were not thoroughly self- 
made. They depended on something outside of self to 
balance them, and it failed. 

After we are self-made we have ever to guard against 
unmaking ourselves. Did you ever feel that you had lost 
yourself somewhere on life's journey, and that the visible 
ego, bearing the name your mother gave you in babyhood, 
is not the person you expected to be ? Not the individual 
you were when you, at the age of twenty perhaps, con- 
sidered your education finished, your character solidly es- 
tablished, and yourself out of all danger — with nothing 
in the way of your progress toward "wealth, eminence and 
influence." You did not see the lions in the path before 
you. You thought the road would be smooth, and flower- 
edged, but you have found it stony and bristling with 
stinging weeds. You thought the battles had been fought, 
that the road was safe, and advancement easy. But we 
all travel in chains. The chains of heredity are ever bind- 
ing us, and the old idea that character is established in the 
morning of life is erroneous. Habits may be, but new 
manifestations of character are liable to crop out in any 
year of our lives. Traits which we inherited from some 
near or remote ancestor may put in an appearance when 
we least expect it. God did not create us out of raw ma- 
terial, as some believe he did father Adam. No, he let 
his laws work, and we have a little of our father's integrity 
and grandfather's proclivity for telling big stories, and 
great-grandfather's combativeness, and uncle John's taste 
for strong drink, and aunt Mary Jane's vanity, and grand- 
mother's extravagonce for spending money, and uncle 
Eeuben's stinginess, and aunt Helena's romance and great- 
grandmother's poor judgment about getting in love with 
unsuitable persons, and being such composite creatures, we 
can never be quite sure what events may call out the 
uncle Reuben or the aunt Helena, or the grandfather, or 
the grandmother part of us, backed up by the stubbornness 
of ancestor Asa, who had a jaw as long as a mule. 

It is the assumption of the dead progenitors who ride 
in our omnibus, as Holmes said, which presents the pitiable 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 137 

spectacle of so many self-unmade people. I had made 
up my mind not to state this rational cause when I began, 
because it places me in a position where I cannot blame 
them. I cannot say upbraidingly "Why will you make such 
a fool of yourself V because I feel that an answer which I 
once heard a school girl give to a petulant professor might 
be appropriately repeated. My friend Emilie had a bad 
way of stuttering. It was a great mortification to her 
but she could not overcome it. The professor asked, "In 
what state is New Orleans ?" "L-1-l-louithiana," said Emi- 
lie. "Miss Emilie, why will you persist in that stutter- 
ing!'^ Emilie drew herself up proudly, her face flaming 
with indignation as she retorted: "Becauthe I did not 
make mythelf, Thir V She had hit the truth. There was 
nothing more to say. The list of self-unmade people begins 
away back with Mother Eve, as the story goes. She was 
very handsomely located in the garden of Eden and had 
every prospect of an easy, ignorant, eternal life. 

The climate was salubrious. There was no worry about 
clothes, no dressmakers to pay, no hats to select, no shoot- 
ing birds to trim them up with, no razor-toed shoes to 
break, no corset strings to pull on, no washing to do, 
no ironing — no bosom shirts to do up for Adam, no 
shirt studs to hunt up, no stockings to darn, no boot- jacks 
to hang up, no cooking and washing dishes; she did not 
even do light housekeeping nor get cricket meals. I do not 
think it was any advantage to her — if she had had more 
housework to do she wouldn't have been fooling with the 
Devil and have unmade herself. 

Be that as it may, she "cooked her goose" in less time 
than it has taken me to tell it, and cooked goose enough 
for us all to eat for the last six thousand years. 

How many self-unmade people appeal to us as we read 
the pages of history? How mournfully vivid stands the 
career of Alexander the Great, who was born 356 years 
before Christ, and for 32 years, the length of his wonder- 
ful life, blazed athwart the cloudy skies of that remote 
age ? The son of a king, he received every aid to bring out 
his talent. At the age of fifteen he became the pupil of the 
philosopher Aristotle. His mental resources were vast and 
he infused into the young prince much of his enthusiasm 
for poetry and philosophv. He instructed him in all 
branches of human knowledge. His physical frame was 
strengthened by systematic gymnastic exercises. His youth- 



138 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

ful days were brightened by many proofs of manly skill and 
courage. At sixteen years his father left him in charge of 
the government while he went on an expedition, and he 
proved himself efficient. His sense of moral rectitude seems 
to have been acute, for when his father, Philip of Macedon, 
repudiated his mother Olympia, young Alexander took the 
part of his mother, thus bringing on a quarrel with his 
father, which obliged him to flee to escape his vengeance. 
His father being assassinated, he became king in his 
twentieth year. He conquered every thing before him, 
advancing from one victory to another, until he entered 
Persepolis triumphant, master of the greatest empire in the 
world. He had then reached the highest pinnacle of mili- 
tary greatness and then began the sad work of unmaking 
himself. He gave himself up to arrogance and dissipation. 
Persepolis he burned, in a fit of drunkenness. He became 
ungrateful and cruel. He shed the blood of his bravest 
generals and his most loving friends. He killed his dear 
friend Clitus with his own hand at a banquet, — and to 
his credit, felt remorse. His ambition was insatiable, but 
every effort seemed to be working his destruction. At last 
he was taken suddenly ill after a banquet, and died. He 
died a self-unmade man, although in memory of what 
he had been, his remains were put in a golden coffin and 
the sarcophagus is now in the British museum, his great- 
ness is not there. His young hands unmade it, and left 
us only a deplorable wreck. 

The Egyptian queen Cleopatra has been painted, sung, 
dramatized, and weakly imitated, until we almost shrink 
from holding her up again to view; but she and her con- 
quered Eoman warrior are two conspicuous examples of 
self-unmade people. In almost every large theater there 
is a scene representing her in her barge on the river Cyd- 
nus, going to answer Antony's summons. The picture is 
very beautiful but she should have the little illegitimate 
Caesar along on the barge. We never hear much about 
the twins which were born to her after that ride to conquest 
although we are told how she suicided by the bite of an 
asp. This left the twins, little Alexander and Cleopatra, 
motherless and fatherless, Antony having killed himself 
by falling on his sword. The task of bringing up these 
children of the escapading queen and warrior was assumed 
by Octavia, Antony's noble-hearted wife. That part of 
the story would spoil the picture, and is wisely not brought 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 139 

forward. From pinnacles of greatness this conspicuous team 
of romancers fell to the rank of self-unmade people. 

But I must not wander among past things, and people 
long since dead. I must come down to the present, and to 
living people, or you will be arousing me by the startling 
summons which a mother used to wake up her sleepy- 
headed daughter. It was this : "Get up ! Jane ! Today is 
Monday; tomorrow's Tuesday; next day's Wednesday and 
the week's half gone and nothing done yet!" 

We hear much about self-made people : — those who work 
against adverse circumstances and rise superior to them. 
Those who are weighted with burdens but win the race 
and wear victors' crowns. America counts her self-made 
people by thousands and proudly points to Lincoln and 
Garfield as splendid examples of what American boys may 
become by persistent effort. We have many heroic girls 
who work their way up through poverty and want to well 
equipped womanhood, and stand ready to do their part in 
life, well made, well garmented, well educated. They 
count overwhelmingly against the mamby pamby girls who 
do little besides eat candy and ask papa for cash; whose 
muscles are soft as dough, and whose faces have little more 
expression than a tablespoon. What helpmates to choose 
for the business of life ! Ruskin tells us wife means 
weaver, and that women are usually house wives or house 
moths: they weave fortunes or they gnaw and destroy 
them. How easy it is for the latter-day young ladies to 
get married and transform themselves into a house moth. 
And it takes a strong, brave man to achieve any business 
success against such odds. The threads Of fortune are 
gnawed off fast as he can spin them. But sometimes it is 
the man who turns moth while the woman racks her brain 
to balance up his shortcomings. On whichever side the 
injustice stands the dishonor of being an ignoble partner 
is there and shows either a lack in ability or in moral 
rectitude. 

Every unjust act we do is an agent toward unmaking 
ourselves. I do not suppose many of us will ever go about 
demolishing a correct individuality in a large, awful wa}^, 
as did Benedict Arnold, the modern murderer Holmes, or 
the long list of criminals we may glean from the news- 
papers every day we choose to hunt for them, but in a 
small way we may effect a wreck of self, if we work at it 
long enough. 



140 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

If the tendency of our actions is upward instead of 
downward there is no danger; but if our lives grow less 
worthy of imitation day by day, if our family disrespect 
us, and our friends do not feel the need of us, we may feel 
pretty sure things are going the wrong way, and it is time 
to consider the situation. Let us consult our mirrors and 
see what thoughts are chiseling our faces. Let us study 
our own visages as critically and as intelligently as we 
do those of other people. Let us determine whether it is 
love, kindness, helpfulness, benevolence, charity, spiritual- 
ity, which are writing so plainly; or is it hatred, cruelty, 
a disposition to grind down others, selfishness, harsh judg- 
ment, sensuality, which are putting their lines deep in 
the flesh and blood masks which our souls wear. If the 
latter we are slowly and surely unmaking ourselves and 
it is time to call a halt. Sometim.es in marriage partner- 
ships one of the firm — it may be the man, it may be the 
woman — sets about unmaking itself, while the other goes 
on improving and building up a grand, good-dispensing 
character. Of course they grow apart — their lives diverge 
— and before they find out what is the matter, John has 
applied for a divorce or Mary is in love with some other 
man, or thinks she is, who is not yet unmaking himself. 
What a pity ! How lamentable it is that people cannot 
know that if they are hateful they will be disliked, and 
if they are loving, in the high sense of the word, they will 
be loved. This is just as certain as it is that if you plant 
thistles you will reap thistles, and if j^ou plant pansies 
you will get the sweetest, dearest little velvety flowers in 
all nature. 

Do you know that thoughts are things, and that vicious 
thoughts, full of malice and hate, when directed towards 
a person may produce illness, and even death ? It is much 
safer to act so justly and so nobly that you will only call 
out kindly, loving thoughts from those about you, even 
from animals. It takes an iron constitution to live long 
and be wicked. Quarrelling is the hardest and most wear- 
ing work one can do. Anger generates poison and is 
self destructive. 

Somebody wrongs you or you think you are wronged. 
You grind your teeth and say "Just wait ! I'll show him 
there is a God in Israel !" 

Oh yes ! of course you can. You can load yourself up 
with a bushel of mud, if you wish to spare the strength 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 141 

to do it;, and you can throw it, and you can make a sorry 
looking picture of him. I know you can, — I would not 
say he doesn't deserve it, but it is such an undignified piece 
of work for you! You will need a thorough scrubbing 
yourself before you will feel natural and angelic again. 
Economically speaking, one cannot afford to be bad be- 
cause somebody else is. Protect yourself, be just to your- 
self, but don't go out of your way to do spite work. If 
you do back will come flocks of black thoughts which will 
beat angrily against your spirit until you are agonized and 
weakened. 

Our religion is of the kind which cannot be made avail- 
able to the fullest extent without the free use of brains. 
We make our own calculations about the outcome of our 
actions, and should not shut our eyes and blindly "wade 
in," expecting Divine Love will reach down and rescue us 
when the water reaches our noses! 

Oh no ! that is not the way the God of Nature works. 
He makes things, sets them on their feet and says, "Now 
take care of yourself ! Keep your eyes open and do your 
best ! I expect much of you." That is as we understand 
the Father. 

But the idea as taught by the churches is very much in 
contrast. Their God creates human beings, sets them 
down with a Bible to play with, and says, "Now believe 
in Me ! There is nothing in you, — nothing at all ! — don't 
try to make anything of yourself, because you cannot. If 
you need help call on me. Have faith, and pray." 

So they move on with eyes skyward. A little while and 
a voice wails up, "Oh God, I'm in a pitfall ! I did not 
see it! Please deliver Thy servant!" And soon again a 
prayer goes up from the depths, "Oh Lord, I'm in trouble 
again ! I have trespassed on my neighbor's rights and am 
sued ! I did not recognize the place where my rights left 
off and his began. I throw myself upon Thy protection — 
save Thou me!" 

Again a despairing voice, tremulous with fright, ascends 
for help, "Oh God of all nations, take heed of the peril 
of Thy servant. A missionary, trying to win souls to 
Thee, is about to be murdered by the heathen Chinese, 
— yea, sixteen are about to be murdered, — help! 
help! ..." 

They were murdered — no help came. The God of 
Nature would have said by his laws in language we would 



142 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

translate thus: "You don't mind what you are about! 
You never will learn to take care of yourself, and, — ^you 
will have to go for it! My laws concerning natural selec- 
tion are unchangeable." 

An object lesson illustrating the inadequacy of ordinary 
Sunday-school teaching in building up rounded characters 
was brought to my notice last week. The young miss, who 
was the chief actor, is a member of a church and has for 
years attended Sunday-school. Instead of being taught 
kindness, justice and the rights of others she has been 
wasting time on dead and gone times and people, and 
has never learned to put herself in another's place. 

A young German who had been working out in the cold 
March weather, in a heavy snow, when he came in to 
dinner drew off his boots and set them by the stove that 
they might be warm and dry when he went out again. 
Little Miss Tickleshoes saw them and thought it would 
be a cunning thing to do to fill them with snow and set 
them by the fire. So while he was eating in another room 
she packed them full of damp snow and set them where it 
would melt and wet the felt lining. When the young man 
came to put them on you can imagine how dangerously 
uncomfortable and cold they would be after the snow was 
dug out. 

Miss Tickleshoes was behind the door laughing over her 
"cunning little joke." She, and all others, who have been 
trained in the dwarfing process, need the advantages of a 
well conducted, progressive Lyceum, where reason, sym- 
pathy, justice, and mental acuteness are cultivated to the 
advantage of the present residents of earth, while the old 
Bible characters take a delightsome rest from discussion 
for at least a hundred years. It would insure solid char- 
acter building and lessen the number of self-unmade 
people. It would spread the Eeligion of Science and 
redeem humanity from ignorance. 

E. E. T. 



THEEE SHALL BE PEACE. 

In remote antiquity, when war was the noblest occupa- 
tion and the warrior the leader of his people, the bards 
while singing the praise of glorious deeds of arms, sang 
also a prophetic strain of peace; the glory of the millen- 
nium, when the lion and the lamb would lie down together. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 143 

the sword cast aside for the sickle. They foresaw the 
beatitude of that age when war should cease and the 
foreigner no longer be regarded as an enemy to be de- 
stroyed, but a brother to be fraternally received. 

The prophecy is about three thousand years old, yet 
unfulfilled. It was made amidst the fierce contention of 
warring tribes when there was not a ray of promise. 
What a pathway of slaughter the nations have traveled 
since that first intimation of the coming of a Golden Age. 
There has been continuous war, and the skill and inventive 
ingenuity has been expended on inptruments of destruction 
and defense. The rude club became the sword; the bow, 
the rifle and cannon; the cave, the steel-clad battleship. 
The fair surface of the earth has been made one wide 
battlefield, and the sea made red with blood. History is a 
record of battles fought with the savagery of beasts, for 
conquest and supremacy. The warrior would fight for the 
products of labor, which he would not produce by his own 
efforts. He devoured and destroyed the creations of Peace. 

War is the concentration of all crimes and villainies; 
the Maelstrom swallowing up the arts of peace; the 
enslaver of mankind. It brings to the front the beast, 
the demon, and sets a premium on robbery and murder. 
There may have been a past when nations emerging into 
civilization were forced to defend themselves against bar- 
barian hordes; times when nations were obliged to strike 
back at the tyrants who would enslave them, but this has 
gone by. The civilized nations have no use for the profes- 
sional soldier; no just occasion for war, and yet they have 
prepared themselves as never before with all the appliances 
science, art and inventive genius can bestow for the work 
of slaughter. Never before in the history of the world 
were such armies maintained, or supplied with such equip- 
ments. Never such navies floated on the seas, or such 
fabulous treasures expended. The Christian nations of 
Europe maintain armies of millions of men, who tantalize 
each other over the borders, but are withheld from actual 
conflict by the knowledge that the engines of destruction 
are so perfected that to call them into action is national 
suicide. The maintenance of this host costs the incom- 
prehensible sum of two billions of dollars a year. 

What does this vast outlay yield? What profit does it 
bring? Nothing. These armies which sap the strength 
and exhaust the resources of the nations are idlers and 



144 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

moths devouring the products of other labor and producing 
nothing. The people are ground into the dust by the 
arrogant lordlings who are sustained in power by the mili- 
tary by which they first robbed the masses of freedom. 
And such is the influence of heredity and education, that 
the latter give loyal adherence to and shout the praise of 
the bespangled hero whose name and fame came from the 
butchery of men ! 

Nor is the present cost of the support of the army all 
that the laborers of these nations have to bear. There is a 
debt created mainly by former wars which hangs like an 
incubus about their necks. That debt for the Christian 
nations of Europe is more than thirty-one billions of 
dollars. There are no productive values to represent it. 
It was borrowed at heavy discount, in times of need, for 
the purpose of destruction, and is as completely lost as 
though thrown into the sea. Its obligations are held by 
the kings of the money mart, who by its means exact a 
tribute from the people of all nations as remorseless as 
ever brigands demanded of the passing traveler, and such 
as no conquered people ever paid to barbarous victorious 
chieftains. 

It is a debt which is constantly augmenting and never 
will be paid, and never should be, for the present and 
future generations should not in Justice be held for the 
folly of ancestors. It is a debt which the creditors do not 
desire paid. All they want is the interest, the tribute, for 
by its means they hold the people in slavery. To press the 
payment would overturn every government in Europe, for 
the stability of these governments, the much-talked-of 
"balance of power," is maintained really not by the armies, 
but by the money-power; for war cannot be prosecuted 
without loans, and the nations have already reached the 
verge of bankruptcy. 

Of war in its blackest garb, stripped of its chivalry and 
excuses for being, the conflict of England with the Boers 
is a most conspicuous object lesson. It has cost the former 
a billion dollars, twenty-tv/o thousand lives and sixty thou- 
sand wounded and disabled; and the latter, suffering and 
disaster, which no statistics can measure. A useless con- 
flict, unjust, uncalled for, which fair dealing and honesty 
might have avoided; the outcome of selfish greed, with a 
result of humiliation and demoralization; an example of 
patriotism and sacrifice for home and country equal to any 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 145 

Greece furnished in her most glorious era, and a ruined 
waste for a prosperous country. 

Wasteful of wealth, war is yet more wasteful of human 
life. A human being is a costly target, and can be sac- 
rificed only in supreme moments, when the life of the 
nation is menaced. 

If all these millions of soldiers should return to their 
homes and engage in the arts of peace would there be 
overproduction? Is a class of drones and idlers necessary 
to give work to the laborers? 

That kind of political economy has given hovels to the 
many and palaces to the few. Until there is a comfortable 
house for every family; until there is sufficient food for 
every hungry mouth; until there is warm and generous 
clothing for every one, there is no fear of surplus. 

If all labored, the many would not as now break beneath 
their lengthened hours of toil, but all would share the right 
to leisure hours. There would be no homeless tramps ; no 
lingering starvation. What might be done with the money 
and labor extorted from the people to maintain the "war 
footing^' of the armies and navies? 

In the United States, where this amount is least of all, 
think what might be done with the cost of one battleship ! 
Three millions of dollars would build a splendid macadam- 
ized road, costing $3,000 per mile, 1,000 miles long. It 
would build 2,000 residences for the homeless, costing 
$1,500 each. With two billions, 2,000 times more might 
be accomplished. And the battleship is built because other 
nations have them and perhaps sometime there will be 
collision of interests and a chance for their engines to 
demolish each other. 

The age of war has passed for civilized nations. The 
trade of the warrior has lost its glamour. The courage of 
the soldier is only foolhardiness. The rewards of the 
future are not for the destroyer, but for the creator; for 
him who wrests from nature the command of her forces; 
who chains and makes the elements obedient to his com- 
mand. 

In this reckless extravagance of constantly augmenting 
armies the limit must be reached; already some of the 
nations have become virtually bankrupt, and with others 
the yoke of slavery presses heavily upon the people. The 
tension has nearly reached the breaking point. Will the 
European nations place themselves on a peace basis, as 



146 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

they can readily do by a convention ; or will they wait till 
by a conflict of these forces, the most terrible the world has 
ever witnessed, the folly and idiocy of their course is 
demonstrated ? 

The day of conquest has passed. The old belief that 
prosperity could be gained by the ruin of neighboring 
nations has been replaced by the idea of brotherhood ; that 
real prosperity is reciprocal, and is only gained by the pros- 
perity of all. Let the soldiers go home. A cultured, home- 
loving people are stronger for self-defense, if it is neces- 
sary, than a host of soldiers. The Swiss, the Nether- 
landers, the Boers, exemplify. 

Peace will come. More than all, this country, with an 
army which was no more than a national police force, in 
stress of need found its citizen soldiers equal to every 
demand. 

Peace will come, and a high court of arbitration will 
decide national questions by justice, and the sword shall 
rust in its scabbard. The soldiers may go to their homes 
today, or they may remain until the deadly strife with new 
and as yet untried weapons of destruction shows the folly, 
the wickedness, the wanton butchery, against which courage 
and discipline count for nothing. 

There shall be peace, for mankind advances, and as in 
the blackest hours of midnight we may predict the coming 
day, so by the set of the current of humanity upward we 
know these fierce contentions of the brute will be passed. 
The world and all it contains is for the joy and pleasure 
of its children, and although they may wander far they 
will continue onward and upward. The spiritual shall 
replace the brutal, and the ways of angels be the ways of 
men. 

GRANDMOTHER GOES NUTTING. 

In the pasture lot stands a hickory, 

Left for shade, and its oily fruit. 
No nut thieves trouble the pretty tree, 

'Though it and the winds sometimes dispute, 
For it just hangs on to its sweet, rich balls, 

And the winds declare it is miserly; 
But it "sauces back'' until winter calls, 

Then, dropping them, says, ''They're no use to 
me!" 

So near to the dwelling house it stands 
TJiat an invalid might a-nutting go; 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 147 

Just a walk on the close-cropped pasture lands 

Beyond where the tawdry maples glow. 
This afternoon it was bright and warm 

And the hill looked green, as it did in spring; 
Late dandelions of dowdy form 

Laughed up, ''Now aren't we the latest thing?" 

I looked across to the wind-stripped tree. 

An aged lady was busy there, 
Picking up nuts industriously, 

As if determined to get her share. 
'Twas grandmother — ninety years old is she, 

And resolute as the pioneer 
She was in the year eighteen-thirty-three, 

When she and grandfather settled here. 

Her teeth are gone and her eyes are dim, 

And the sound she hears must be very loud. 
But she's there at work, with her old-time vim. 

Though she is ninety and greatly bowed, 
*'Ho! Grandmother! what has come over you? 

You can't eat nuts and I'd like to know 
What speculation you have in view ! ' ' 

* ' The great-great-grandchildren love them so ! " 

**I can make some socks out of pretty stuff 

And send them out in the mail, you know; 
If my dim old eyes let me find enough 

To send the 'shavers' a quart or so — 
George and Emmett and Floyd and Glynn — 

All came four this summer and fall. 
They'll know, when they get them, where I've been, 

And laugh * Great-grandmother gathered them all ! ' " 

Dear old grandmother! still at work 

For the sturdy youngsters akin to her. 
Her life-long habits about her lurk. 

Yes, for ninety years she has been a-stir. 
When she enters Heaven if the Tree of Life 

Stands all aglow with its apples fine. 
She will bring a ' ' graft, ' ' if there 's any knife 

To cut it, to us, from the tree divine. 

E. E. T. 



WHEN EAW WINDS SNAEL AND BITE. 

The raw winds struck like water cold; 

They almost angered me. 
A mind, rough as a chestnut burr, 

Hurt me distractingly. 

What if I do live in a place where the sharp winds snarl and 
bite? 
Shall I fight them till I fall? 



148 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Shall I line up my face with frowns, and hate them with all my 
might 
Till my blood seems as gall? 

Oh, no! I'll not strike at the wind, if it gnaws me to the bone — 

I can never conquer it! 
I will meet it, this unseen force, like a piece of smiling stone, 

Wasting good strength no bit. 

This rugged sense, which I have learned, applies to human kind; 

Some are worse than snarling winds. 
They bring to duty discontent, and a most unwilling mind, 

Till even Love's labor grinds. 

They will curse what they cannot change, till the bad work mars 
and blights; 

Why not be self -absolute ? 
It is only weakness to cry and sob through the rayless nights, 

Or eternal law dispute. 

It is folly to cry down law because one collides with it, 

Best say, ' ' I was out of place ! 
I will learn the law; it is good, and remember where it hit 

By my bruised and blackened face." 

I will smilingly keep my strength ; not fritter it all away 

On something which wounded me. 
I am not God's pet, who must hedged be that I may not go astray! 

That would not develop me! 

The sooner I fall in line and march with the universe. 

Not stopping to catch each lie, 
The richer am I in my gains. It were waste of strength to curse, 

And the sooner one must die. 

To love, and to try to help on to the good of the whole is best; 

It metes more to all, and you. 
Sow love, not hate ; push ! don 't pull back ! as the world creeps on 
to rest, 

When the f arcey show is through. 

To rest? — not rest! but dying worlds, except that they still 
revolve, 

Do as human corpses die. 
But Nature holds, and whirls them on, disperses and re-evolves 

New stars in some new sky. 

Ah, me! the mote I am today! and yet I am part of all. 

Never dropped out from the plan. 
What countless things I've been, till now, industriously in thrall. 

Would aeons of ages span. 

So heart, hope on ! my soul, aspire ! work true in your place today. 

Good work brings its own rich dues. 
I know that the atoms which make up me only a space will stay, 

But cannot be barred from use. E. K. T. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 149 

HUMANE EDUCATION: ITS SCOPE AND HIGH- 
EST AIM IN CHAKACTER BUILDING. 



Given June 25, 1907, before the Literary .Club at Berlin 
Heights, Ohio. 

Madame Chairman and Friends : I was more than glad 
when the ladies of the T. T. C. programmed this afternoon 
for the consideration of Humane Education. It is a good 
subject to be understoctd, because if it is once compre- 
hended it is never set aside, but is a guide to good actions 
every day. It civilizes, it refines, it benefits the whole 
world for it unitizes all sentient life. 

The result of humane education is to make us consid- 
erate of the sensibilities of others ; to feel their needs and 
try to relieve their sufferings; to be kind, benevolent, and 
to make all lives happy lives, whether of humans or 
animals. A good humanitarian is in touch with every 
creature about him, and tries to get at the understanding 
of things. He works for a moral brotherhood, and that 
aim has been growing through all ages. 

Whether we wish to or not, we must learn our lessons, 
and we must put them into practice. 

From low to high the notion of eliminating barbarism 

and cultivating civilization is growing and spreading out. 

Just recently our loved President Roosevelt has been 

taking a strong lesson in humane education from Mr. 

William J. Long, the nature writer, whose books Mr. 

Roosevelt, who is a hunter but not a naturalist, took it 

upon himself to criticise, and to state that Mr. Long is not 

true to nature. Mr. Long refutes this by giving the way 

he gets at the hearts of the wild things, and how Mr. 

Roosevelt gets at their hearts. The latter goes out to 

hunt, and the only way he gets at their hearts is to put 

bullets into them.' He quotes from Mr. Roosevelt's own 

books to prove the accusation. Here is one instance of a 

sportsman's keen enjoyment: A deer and fawn appear. 

"He bore his antlers aloft ; the snow lay thick on his mane ; 

he sniffed the air as he walked. As I drew a bead his 

bearing of self-confidence changed to one of alarm. My 

bullet smote through the shoulder blades and he plunged 

wildly forward and fell full length on the blood-stained 

snow. I jumped off my horse and covered the fawn. As 



150 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

I pulled the trigger, down went the deer, the bullet having 
gone into the back of its head. I felt much pleased with 
it. My nerves were thrilling and my heart beating with 
eager, fierce excitement. Drawing a fine bead, I pressed 
the trigger. He did not reel, but I knew he was mine, for 
the blood sprang from both his nostrils and he fell, dying 
on his side before he had gone thirty rods, his hind quar- 
ters trailing. Eacing forward I broke his neck. Two 
moose birds followed the wounded bull as he dragged his 
great carcass down the hill, and pounced with ghoulish 
bloodthirstiness on the gouts of blood that sprinkled the 
green herbage." 

Was it after such a hunt that Mr. Eoosevelt wrote : "No 
sportsman can ever feel keener pleasure and self-satisfac- 
tion than when he walks up to a grand elk lying dead in 
the cool shade of the evergreen." 

It is a barbarous way to take pleasure. It is not the 
way of the scholar and naturalist. 

Looking back we could learn a lesson from Pharaoh, of 
the twenty-fifth dynasty, who left a sermon in stone which 
has recently been deciphered and thus brought from 
ancient Egypt into the present: 

In an inscription on an Egyptian memorial stone dis- 
covered recently at Mount Barkal, there is evidence that 
acts of cruelty in high places by educated men were 
severely punished in the land of the Pharaohs. Dr. 
Brugsch thus translates the passage to which we refer: 

"When his majesty visited the stables and the studs of 
foals, he observed that they had let them starve. He said, 
'I swear, as surely as the youthful Sun-god Ka loves me, 
as surely as I breathe in life, it is a viler thing to my heart 
to let the horses starve than all the other faults that thou 
hast committed. That thou hast laid thy heart bare 
through this, evidence is furnished me of thy habitual 
views. Hast thou forgotten that the shadow of God rests 
upon me ? The proof thereof shall not be wanting to Him 
on my part. Would that another had done such a thing 
to me, an ignorant man, not a haughty one, as he is. I 
was born out of my mother^s womb, and created out of the 
egg of a divine essence. I was begotten by a God — by his 
name; I will not forget Him in what He has commanded 
me to do.^ Then he ordered his (Nimrod's) possessions 
to be assigned to the treasury, and his granaries to the 
property of the government. Amen of Apet." 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 151 

Looking again into the past we find that the ancient 
Greeks were most merciful to animals, and that it was a 
part of their religion to be so. Death and torture had no 
place in their daily pastimes. The laws of justice and 
mercy were strenuously observed, and the entire scope and 
bearing of humane education was comprehended by the 
Greeks as by no other nation in that remote age. 

Triptolemus was one of the most learned and cultivated 
men of his century. One of his three precepts was, "Hurt 
not animals." He it was whom the people of Attica hon- 
ored as being chosen by the goddess Ceres to drive her 
chariot, drawn by two dragons, to distribute corn all over 
the earth and establish festivals to commemorate the great 
sood of the grain in making bread. 

Phocius expatiates with delight on one occurrence which 
gave an opportunity for a strong expression against cruelty 
as disqualifying a man for the administration of justice 
The Areopagites of Athens was a society of the highest 
importance. It looked after the welfare of the nation; its 
morals, health, the treasury, and idleness— which it re- 
garded as the most dangerous of vices. It aimed to secure 
the administration of justice. The members were required 
to lead noble and blameless lives. Their demeanor must 
be serious. Their meetings were held in the open air, 
usually at Mars Hill, a short distance from the Acropolis 
in Athens. It was a Court of Justice. 

In an open space were two rough stone seats ; one for the 
defendant and one for his accuser. In trying the cases no 
blandishments of oratory were used for fear they might 
bias the judgment. Decisions were rendered m the night, 
that the eyesight might not divert from justice. 

One of these august meetings was convened on Mars Hill 
one day in old Greece, when it chanced that a tragedy was 
going on in the air overhead. A sparrow was pursued by a 
hawk and to escape death the little bird flew down and took 
refuge in the bosom of one of the members, a man who was 
naturally of a harsh, cruel disposition. He seized the little 
trembler and threw it so violently from him that it died 

^^ Th^ whole assemblage was disgusted with his refusal 
of protection to the helpless sparrow, and declared it 
showed a lack of principle, which would interfere with the 
administration of justice. . . ,, i 

By the unanimous vote of the society the cruel man was 



152 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

deprived of his senatorial dignity and barred from mem- 
bership in the Areopagites. 

We hold that a thorough humane education will build 
up men and women who can be trusted in all positions 
they qualify to fill. E. K. T. 



THE LADDER OF LOVE. 

We come to reach our trembling hands 
And hungry hearts toward angelhood; 

We come to pray that heavenly light 
Baptize us in Truth's whitening flood. 

These royal days are set apart 

For growth in all things good to know, 
Whether pertaining unto earth 

Or heaven, where sometime we shall go. 

An aureoled angel cannot leap 

From a dwarfed mortal to full glow 

Of love's supreme intelligence, 

For perfect spirits needs must grow. 

In all God's universe is not 

A better starting place than earth, 

Where heaven's great souls once flickered dim, 
Uncertain of their own true worth. 

Slowly great lives must broaden out 
By grasping duties close at hand. 

And not by dreaming selfishly 

Of heights whereon they long to stand. 

Struggle and climb, and fall and rise, 

That is the story of the years. 
Nil desperandum! Still aspire. 

Suppress the groans, dash back the tears! 

Climb on and up and swing the light 
Of love and faith where 'er you go, 

Be it along June's bloomy paths. 
Or over desolate fields of snow. 

There is no joy like dealing good 
To every struggling sentient life; 

There is no peace so exquisite 

As pouring balm on painful strife. 

The song-bird with a broken wing, 
Soothed in the hollow of your hand, 

To songless rest allies your soul 
To Mary-mother in God's land. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 153 

The goaded horse, in harness down, 

His strength not equal to his load, 
Who finds a friend in you, bestows 

A ticket on the heavenly road. 

The homeless dog which by mischance 

Has lost his master, his one love. 
Whom he would die for, and receives 

A meal, and not the order, ' ' Move ! ' ' 

Has blessed you; for a kindly act 

Builds up and strengthens every man 
And every woman, everywhere; 

Sweet mercy is the angel plan. 

Wisdom decrees it, justice, too, 

And greatness must have stepping-stones; 

The grandest hero quickest hears 
The wounded soldier's dying groans. 

E. E. T. 



A BELIEF THAT SPIEITUALIZES. 

Spiritualism absorbs truth from the Zend Avesta, the 
bible of those whose sacred fires blazed from the watch- 
towers of Babylon; it has gathered the inspired passages 
from the Shastra, read by priests in the rock-hewn temples 
of the Ganges; it has culled texts from the Book of the 
Dead, chanted by anointed ones when the pyramids were 
young, and the lips of Memnon welcomed the sun, Lord 
of Day, rising from the red vapors of the desert; it has 
drawn deeply from the Hebrew books, as explained by 
Levites standing in the parted curtains of the Holy of 
Holies, and from the recorded words of him at whose 
birth it is said shepherds of the Syrian plains heard the 
angels of heaven sing wondrous carols of joy. It has taken 
the words of the humble camel-driver whose soul was filled 
with angel-presence, and by this power rose to the leader- 
ship of the Moslem world. It stretches across the ages 
and embraces all religions. Even the false which is in 
them all, it takes as stepping stones, essential in the 
evolution of the truth. 

It is all of these and measurelessly more. These are 
content with belief; content to stand on this side of the 
door of spirit-life and conjecture what possibly may be on 
the other. Spiritualism gives knowledge for belief ; opens 



154 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

wide the door and presents a new and boundless field for 
investigation. 

And what are we who dare to claim the title to this 
exalted name? Immortal spirits for whom this universe 
was framed; spirits now in these garments of flesh; set- 
ting out on an endless evolution, which when this earth 
fades away, the sun no longer shines in the heavens, and 
the stars break in dust on the coast line of time, will have 
only begun. 

What are we? Beings capable of understanding all; 
having infinite possibilities in our organism. How is the 
mathematician able to compute the size, relations and 
revolutions of worlds; the place they should occupy; the 
velocity of their motions; their weight in the balance 
swung out from their central suns? How can he analyze 
the substance of stars across abysses of space so vast that 
light, swiftest messenger of nature, is ten thousand years 
in traversing? Because the laws of the universe are 
expressed in his organization. He comprehends the mys- 
teries of life, the wonders of mind, the subtilty of spirit, 
because he is a spirit in whom every force and element of 
the physical and spiritual world are blended. 

Immortality is not a reward for belief, but our common 
heritage. There will be no boasting of the accident which 
made us Methodists, Presbyterians or Agnostics when we 
reach the heavenly highlands. All pass through the same 
gate and come to an understanding of what it means to be 
immortal. 

If religion be aspiration for righteousness, then this is 
the religion of religions. It uplifts our souls from the 
darksome bogs of fear and doubt, into the pure atmosphere 
of the highlands of a more perfect life. We are a part of 
all, affected by all, and our duty is to assist all. As we pass 
but once this way, we should not let a chance go by of 
carrying out the principles of this philosophy. 

We are instruments which become transmitters or 
receivers as we receive or send out thought waves. All the 
forces of the universe, and the thoughts of other minds 
impinge on us as on a central vortex. We receive and 
understand those to which we are attuned. If the chords 
of our being are made tense by selfishness and passion, 
they vibrate to corresponding waves in the spirit ether. 
Thus hate intensifies hate, sensuality is stimulated by 
sensuality. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 155 

If we cultivate our minds in the ways of charity, self- 
devotion, and the broad and noble fraternity which places 
the good of others before our own, then we become re- 
sponsive to all that is uplifting and as harps under the 
touch of angel hands. 

To help ourselves we must help others. We cannot run 
away from a lagging world ; we must carry the world with 
us. The pain and suffering, the errors and blindness of 
the world, strike discord on our responsive spirits, nor can 
we escape, however we may strive, their Jarring influence 
as long as they exist. We cannot so isolate ourselves that 
the shiverings of the famished, ill-clad, ill-sheltered do not 
touch us w4th unrest. We cannot so isolate ourselves that 
the dark shadows of prison walls do not fall on our inner- 
most spirits. 

What are we ? Today incarnate spirits with capabilities 
for the realization of our most ardent dreams of perfection. 
The silent warder. Death, is the usher to a new state of 
existence where our present aspirations will be attained. 

We face two worlds, the physical and the spiritual, and 
thus every thought and act has a double relation — to the 
present and the future — and only as they contribute to the 
perfection of the latter, are they "treasures laid up in 
heaven." 

Spiritualism combines science and philosophy in its 
explanation of the phenomena of the material and spiritual 
universe. It is the first and only attempt to place all 
phenomena, even those of moral consciousness, and spir- 
itual life, under the rule of unchanging law. 

Those who accept it must be students and not devotees. 
Simply to believe that spirit friends return and communi- 
cate, does not make a Spiritualist, any more than learning 
the alphabet makes a scholar. It is a short step in that 
direction. Can we claim to be Spiritualists while our souls 
are distracted by discords; our minds shadowed by the 
black clouds of selfishness and torn by the winds of pas- 
sion ? If angelic perfection be our ideal of excellence, can 
we be Spiritualists without conforming our lives to that 
exalted ideal? 

We may fail; we may stumble and fall. The man who 
does not, the perfect man, may never be seen in this life, 
yet is it not an obligation we owe to ourselves and our 
spirit friends, to make every effort for its attainment? 



156 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Oh, Spiritualism, divinely fair and eloquent of speech, 
you have brought to famished souls the bread of eternal 
life, and to the thirsty sparkling waters from the fountains 
of immortality ! 

You have bound up the broken heart of grief, and 
restored the lost ones who disappeared in the shadows. 

You have made life worth the living, and wreathed the 
couch of death with immortelles. 

You hold aloft the highest ideal and assure us it is 
attainable by the humblest soul. 

You have brought the courts of heaven to earth and 
shown us the way to eliminate the powers of hell. 

You have for the old religion of self-depreciation and 
of pain, brought the religion of joy. For the rule of 
miracle, you have given the reign of law. 

Man instead of being a "debased worm of the dust," 
becomes the highest evolutionary product of nature. 

You have given us the most exalted views of the conduct 
of life, and transformed the sepulchre to a glorious arch- 
way, leading to immortal life. 



WOMEN OF THE GOLDEN CORD. 

Sympathy is the lily in the garden of the soul. White, 
sensitive, respondent, it quivers to the music of the sighing 
breeze and shakes to the roaring of the rough winds. The 
humming bird fans it with its dainty wings sometimes and 
anon a worm gnaws at its golden heart. 

Still it holds its white face heavenward and exhales sweet 
perfume for all within the radius of its influence — for 
even a flower has influence. 

Bend over a bed of pansies — are not your sensations 
quietly delightful? Blue violets — how cool, wooing, har- 
monizing ! Carnations — you want to touch them ! Roses 
— how they warm you. Flowers seem to exert an indi- 
vidual influence as do different people. 

The same is true of animals. Some tire you, some rest 
you, a songbird is welcome to rock on your choicest rose 
bush, but a crow's cawing, you prefer to be down over 
some remote carcass. The world needs the work of the 
crow ^s well as that of the liquid-voiced lark. The same 
mystical cord of sympathy, and similarity seems to run 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 157 

through all life. This fact is, to the thinking person, an 
antidote for human arrogance and gentles men and women 
toward all forms of life below them. They feel a oneness, 
a unity with whatever God has created. 

There is a golden cord which runs 

Through every heart now throbbing, 
It vibrates to the touch of joy 

And moans to sorrow's sobbing. 
It trembles to the notes of song 

In woodland or in city, 
To breaking heart or wounded bird 

It thrills the balm of pity. 

No one can stand apart, alone, 

In marble isolation; 
The golden cord links every heart, 

In high or lowly station. 
No telegraphic wire can send 

A message onward faster 
Than sympathy, unheard, unseen, 

Speeds progress or disaster. 

As every noble thought we think 

Makes all things living better, 
So every vile and vicious thought 

Forges wrongs, galling fetter; 
The golden cord is wiring fast 

To other hearts ' emotions, 
It runs where'er are sentient lives, 

Up mountains and o 'er oceans ! 

• There is no finite human power 

Can sever its connection, 
So better 'tis we seek to reach 

Love's goodness and perfection. 
Let not the golden cord transmit 

One thought to mar life's beauty, 
But many an one to wavering hearts 

Of love and hope and duty. 

Yes, duty, that is a homely word, but without it life is 
abortive and unsatisfactory. It may be a flower bristling 
with thorns, but the fruit of it is sweet and soul-nourish- 
ing. The woman who is dutiful, to herself as well as to 
others, cannot be other than pleasing and attractive to all 
with whom she associates. There is a woman's organiza- 
tion called the Golden Cord and it makes five simple rules 
the basis of membership. These are : 

1. I will be loving and lovable. 

2. I will be pure in heart, mind and body. 



158 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

3. I will pity and help the poor and weak. 

4. I will be kind to dumb animals. 

5. I will avoid all shame. 

What do you think of the women of the Golden Cord? 
Cannot we all pledge ourselves to these five silver rules, 
mentally, and weave them into our lives if we are not 
already doing so? But we say of the first one of the 
number, we can be loving; but being lovable, that is 
another consideration; perhaps we cannot be beautiful, nor 
accomplished, nor rich, nor versed in society ways, so we 
fear though we should be loving we cannot be lovable. 

Did you ever notice that the qualities which make one 
lovable are within and not exterior acquisitions. Look 
among your acquaintances ; — is it the one whose wardrobe 
is the most elegant who is loved the most ? Or the one who 
can dance the best, or execute the most difficult music? 
The one who never looks beyond her own wants and the 
strategy she can use to attain them? 

Is it not rather she who is responsive, generous, true of 
heart, never treacherous, slow to take affront, looking for 
the best in everybody — quick to see and praise the good and 
beautiful in her friends, ready to help them in trouble and 
to share her bounties with them; in short, the soulful 
woman instead of the soulless one? 

So to be lovable we have only to cultivate the higher 
qualities and not the low and selfish ones. Grow up and 
not down. 

The second rule, "I will be pure in heart, mind, and 
body.'^ This is the golden rule of the homekeeper and 
without it no home can be an Eden — not even a happy 
resting place on life's wearisome journey. 

Mrs. Ellen Henrotine, for four years the leader of 
American club women, says, "The older I grow and the 
more I see of the world, the more firmly I am convinced 
that it is inherent in the divine order of society that the 
highest intellect among women — the best she has to offer 
should be given to the home/' 

She also says, "Beware of three women — the one who 
does not love children, the one who does not love flowers, 
and the one who openly declares she does not like other 
women. There is something wanting in such and in all 
probability its place is supplied by some unlovely trait." 
The second rule is good medicine for such and living up to 
it would make them into something better than they are. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 159 

The women of the Golden Cord pledge to pity and help 
the poor and weak. One aesthetic philosopher says the 
mere resolve not to be useless, and the honest desire to 
help other people will in the quickest, and most delicate 
way, improve yourself. "I will be kind to dumb animals," 
the fourth basis of membership, is most worthy, and far- 
reaching. 

The most important lessons in ethical training often 
begin with the just treatment of our domestic animals, and 
the great crimes of history may be often traced to the 
education of youth in the ways of cruelty. If parents 
could only see this how careful they would be. 

One of my neighbors had a boy — the boy by teasing 
got a toy gun. He was told he might shoot at a mark, 
but he wanted to shoot to kill something. So he shot, on 
the sly, at a pet kitten and put out an eye. The poor little 
thing suffered intensely, and all summer the eye was an 
object of pity to all who saw the victim. 

In Dunkirk, Indiana, on the 7th of this current month 
a boy of twelve years, Carl Eifler, had the same feeling 
which possessed my little neighbor and it ended more 
disastrously. He had a revolver loaded with a leaden 
pellet. Snapping it around the house carelessly all the 
morning had not satisfied him. He levelled the weapon 
on his little sister Blanch, five years old. As he continued 
his thoughtless play it was discharged and the little girl 
fell to the floor screaming with pain, the blood gushing 
from her temple. She lingered three hours and died. The 
father of the children was so frenzied that the police had 
to be called in to prevent him from suiciding. A boy 
with a revolver is matter out of place. Mercy teachings 
are better for boys than revolvers. 

But to return to the women of the Golden Cord. They 
promise to avoid all shame. Shame is a consciousness of 
guilt or of doing something derogatory to reputation. It 
is bringing reproach on one's self. So it is not a desirable 
result, we all admit. The consequences of small mistakes 
are just as sure as those of great ones and the sooner 
we all get quit of the idea that heaven will interfere and 
tug us out of trouble, the more discreet we shall be and the 
more happy. 

The women who can climb to happiness stepping on the 
hearts of other women and of children are certainly not 
women of the Golden Cord. And may the lily of sympathy 



160 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

grow in the garden of our souls until it sheds its fragrance 
on every being in lifers golden circle which can feel and 
suffer. E. R. T. 

A QUIET FOURTH OF JULY (1904). 

I'll sing on this Fourth of July, 

Away from explosions and noise, 
On the old farm at home, 'neath the sky's azure dome, 

In the heart of the purest of joys. 

My band is the wind in the trees, 

And the birds which frequent their cool shade; 

So I dare sing my song, in a voice brave and strong. 
For there's nothing to make me afraid. 

I'll twine on the frame of my lyre, 

The tenderest flowers in my heart, 
Never caring a groat for the cannon's black throat. 

Nor man's fireworks of consummate art. 

I read of the horrors of war, 

I hate them, and wish men were wise; 
That the tyrants were good, and the right understood. 

And grim Greed not a giant in size. 

Could I set the pace to advance 

I should first move the heads of mankind; 

With Love's music sweet I would "play up the feet 
Of the army," to march up Mount Kind. 

The great game of murder, named War, 

Is hell, — but a pastime for kings; 
If her dead could awake, what a host they would make, 

To relate diabolical things! 

There were millions on millions of horse; 

There were billions on trillions of men, 
Whom mothers have loved, and their nations approved. 

Whose tortures no mortal could pen. 

Back! I tire of o'erlooking the world! 

Let my thought narrow down to my home. 
Where the dead yesterdays, in the jolliest ways, 

March in, to a tiny toy drum ! 

The drummer is my little lad; — 

And the fire-crackers snapple about; 
My two girls join the fun, papa loads up the gun; 

Oh, the noise! what a furious rout! 

The dog barks, the eat climbs a tree. 

The crackers keep snapping around; 
The hens think it strange, and keep out of gun-range, 

Too nervous to fancy the sound. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 161 

That Fourth was some years back, you know; — 

And where are the children today? 
Off keeping the Fourth, in the south, and the north, 

But loving the old home alway! 

E. B. T. 



LAUNCHED, BUT WHITHER BOUND? 

Commencement day had come, and the class decorated 
the church for the occasion. A funeral service was to be 
held earlier, and the class motto inadvertently was not 
covered. Its effect on the assembly may be imagined when 
they looked up and saw the casket had been placed directly 
under "Launched, but Whither Bound?" Could anything 
have been more appropriate or suggestive? 

Launched into the Great Beyond! Unlike the ship 
which slides down the ways into the sea, the spirit passes 
beyond the shadows and is seen no more. 

Good ship, we know wherefore you were built, and to 
what distant port you will sail. There are charts and 
compass to guide, and you will return with freighted 
riches of Indian seas. 

But when death severs the last hold of the spirit on 
physical things, and it passes into the infinite expanse, we 
have been tjiught it cannot return ; that not a whisper has 
come or can come to us from the Land of Silence. 

We stand in the gray shadows overhanging the grave. 
Darkness broods over the illimitable reach of waves, laving 
the shores beneath our feet, and breaking on other shores 
no mortal knows. 

Launched, the spirit, and the shard, the body, remains 
as the broken causeway by which it passed beyond mortal 
recognition. 

We question in tears, the physical senses are in evidence, 
that the light of life's lamp has gone out forever; that we 
might as well hope to hear again the song of a dead bird, 
as intelligence after the body returns to elemental form. 
Was then all its high purposes, its noble aims, its unselfish 
devotion, its love, its wisdom, reaching out to the com- 
prehension of all things, the resultants of changes in the 
reactions of atoms we call life ? Aye, says the materialist, 
and to have faith is the weakness of a childish mind. 

This cannot be true. There can be no mistake in 



162 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

nature like this! There must be a spirit, which has 
carried the personality of this life away with it from the 
wasted body. Has it passed to the regions of Tartarus to 
wander sad and shadowy to the time of doom? Has it 
gone to some remote paradise, where in new found joys it 
forgets all that was dear to it on earth? Will it wait 
there for the final trump to return into the resurrected 
body it has left ? To heaven, or the flaming halls of hell, 
to receive reward or punishment? 

Whither bound, oh spirit? The sage, the seer, the 
visionist, the philosopher have speculated and reasoned 
and they have not told us. 

The way is dark, the night has no morning; we fancy, 
we hope, we have no evidence. 

Thus saith the mind, shrouded by grief, and influenced 
by material science, but there comes an intelligence out of 
the concealing mists and lifts the curtain. 

Launched ! to sail out into the infinitude of possibilities. 
Whither bound? Over the sea to the shores whose lofty 
promontories gleam through the shadowing clouds, re- 
vealed to clairvoyant eyes. 

Its course is not an endless flying away to remote 
regions, on the border land of outer darkness, the Pit 
of Torment, or to a Paradise, to forget in new found 
pleasures the loves of this life. The wide sea is open for 
the ship that sails to remotest shores, and the way the 
spirit may go is not bared against its return. For the 
heaven in the infinitude is here, distance being not enter- 
ing into spiritual consciousness. 

The ship is launched into the sea, from its scaffoldings 
and ways; the yielding waves support it instead of rude 
props and braces. The spirit is launched at death into the 
ether, evolved from the physical body which remains as 
the broken and torn away scaffolding. 

Launched into the spirit world! Grandest thought of 
human destiny possible for the mind to conceive ! There 
to evolve a realization of being beyond any ideal held by 
fancy here. There the dark places will be made light ; the 
aspirations realized; the broken strands of endeavors re- 
united; the character rounded and completed. 

There will be unions of family circles, and of friends, 
and the gray embers of anticipations will glow with the 
l^ames of that new existence ! 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 163 

ONE LONELY HOUB. 

Thou must go on alone, my soul, 

Thou must go on alone; 
The future, — what it holds, my soul, 

Is, kindly, yet unknown. 

Thou knowest all things end, my soul, 

The evil and the good; 
The way results will come, my soul, 

Is not yet understood. 

Thou canst but do thy best, my soul, 

Thy best and nothing more. 
The things thou f ailest to gain, my soul, 

'Tis useless to deplore. 

Thou must drift on alone, my soul. 

No anchorage for thee! 
Thou sailest soundless seas, my soul. 

Through all eteraity. 



E. E. T. 



WAS IT A SOUL, OR HIS DREAM? 



The old, old plan of a chequered life; 

Some joys, some sorrows, some smiles, some tears; 
Fair hopes, defeats, repose and strife, — 

These make the days which make the years. 
A dying man had been through them all. 

But never had soured on the gift of life; 
He had not talked of his cups of gall. 

Nor passed them on to children or wife. 

He had loved in youth and the maiden died, 

Her face was a cameo on his heart; 
He most desired that she there abide 

Till the mystic veil for him did part. 
And yet, this was not a narrow love. 

But a fine ideal, a holy dream; 
A silver spray, and a white, white dove. 

Which threw o'er his life a heavenly gleam. 

Twice in his life had he wedded been. 

And a helpmate found in his loneliness; 
Good homes, good children, good wives, and e'en 

His love to bless them with sacredness. 
He had done his duty in every place 

Where fate had thrown him, and now had come 
The time for closing the winning race, — 

The hour for the final going home. 

He lay on a white bed, roses near; 
His last wife, living, attended him. 



164 A GOLDEN SHEAF. 

His other, an angel, did appear 
Hovering over him, dreamy, dim. 

His daughter quietly watched his needs. 
For life was vanishing. Wan and weak 

He lay with his record of noble deeds 
Death-locked, — never again to speak. 

Never? He opens his lips, — he wakes! 

He looks to the open door and, lo! 
'*Is that you, Mary?" he joyful speaks, 

' ' Good-bye, my dear ones, I must go ! ' 
Was it the soul of the maid who died? 

Or was it the shape of his holy dream? 
We do not know. We are now denied 

The explanation of Heaven's foregleam. 



E. R. T. 



WEAEY WOMEN. 

A reader of the Journal of Hygiene writes to that maga- 
zine : "I wish I could find a place where people don't want 
things. I have heard there is such a place in some South- 
ern state and I believe I will try and find it and go there 
to live. This forever being called on to supply some want 
in the household tires me out and I'm just weary all the 
time." 

I think I hear hundreds of women's voices saying, "I 
feel that way, too." But we must not go, even if we could 
find such a place. Because, don't you know, everything 
we love, all the people and the animals and the flowers 
would be left to want and languish, and maybe die, if we 
went far away, where we could not hear the jangling cries 
of want, nor help to meet the demands. That would be 
more uncomfortable than our weariness. 

I have sometimes thought I would itemize the wants of 
one day, but I never had time to write so steadily and at 
the same time attend to them. I did start a list once, but 
abandoned it long before evening. 

It ran thus : "I want to get an early start this morn- 
ing," said Reuben, as the roosters were crowing at 3 
o'clock a. m., "I want breakfast by 5 o'clock." 

But the children oughtn't to be called so early — so I 
must get two breakfasts, I said yawning. He did not hear 
this remark. 

"I want three lunches packed — can't come home to din- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 165 

ner — want to plow that sod on the Jones farm; want to 
make a good start today ; want a jug of water with vinegar, 
ginger and sugar in it to carry along, too; want that rip 
in my straw hat sewed up; want some wagon grease; 
want hot water and soap." 

By this time an old hen and 10 chickens called at the 
kitchen door and wanted their breakfasts; men ready and 
want theirs. After that the dog, Caesar, was in a dance 
to get off with the men and wanted his breakfast. Old 
Mike, the cat, gave several pathetic meows as a reminder 
of his wants, and by that time the children were up and I 
had to stop writing to fix them up for school. So I only 
made a small beginning. 

Everything about seems to make a demand on the far- 
mer's wife for something; she must chase the hawk away 
from the hens, watch the vegetables growing, receive calls, 
plan and probably cook the dinner after the churning is 
done, or the ironing, or washing. She is emphatically a 
woman of affairs, and there is no way of getting rid of 
her duties. 

If she can be sufficiently interested so her duties will 
be pleasures she is happily organized; otherwise she will 
become embittered and discouraged. 

I read of a woman who all her married life, had kept a 
diary, only writing down the pleasant things which came 
to her each day; the sad and painful ones she tried to 
forget. Each year she wrote a book of the blessings which 
came to her life and called the volumes her "Pleasure 
Books." When she was depressed she drove away the 
"blues" by getting her books and reading from them until 
she felt that she was one of the most blessed women in the 
world. I presume it would be a wise plan for all of us. 

E. R. T, 



A CEUEL OMISSION. 

A cold December day one of our neighbors, with a man 
and team he had hired set out to market some corn. He 
had a team of his own, which he drove, and the help he 
had secured drove the one which he owned. 

The day was drizzly and the roads bad. They had a 
special kind of corn and must drive twelve miles to sell it. 
To save another trip they loaded very heavy, putting on. 



166 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

each wagon 2,250 pounds. I saw the horses struggling 
past and thought what a hard day they and their drivers 
would have toiling over the ordinary country roads to their 
destination. I consoled myself by thinking they would 
have the best of care, a part of which would be a noon 
rest and a good dinner before their return. 

At night, just before dark, they came back. My hus- 
band, who was crossing the street said, "You've had a 
hard day.'^ 

"Yes," said the farmer, "we had to wait two hours to 
have our loads looked over and weighed.'' 

"That gave you a good chance to feed your horses and 
rest them before coming back," said my representative. 

"Oh, we didn't bother to feed the horses. We gave them 
an extra feed in the morning before we started, and when 
we get home they'll have another." 

And yet these young men both depended on the health 
and work of those horses the coming season, and could illy 
afford to run any risk of having to do without them. 

They have yet to learn that animals are not inanimate 
machines, which may be crowded to the uttermost. They 
prided themselves on the great feat they had accomplished 
at so small an outlay, and probably did not stop to consider 
that when men and horses do such a day's work as they did 
without fortifying themselves with food, they are over the 
danger line and in a fair way to lose more than they gain 
by it. 

It is to arouse thought on such subjects, diffuse light 
and benefit men and animals that reformers are holding 
Angell prize contests to advance human education. 

E. R. T. 



AN ESCAPED LIE. 

A tiger once escaped from Van Amburg's menagerie, 
and in an hour's time the whole countryside was armed 
and in pursuit. 

"A tiger prowling in the woods !" cried the trembling 
women. 

"A tiger loose !" shudderingly whispered the children 
clinging to their mother's skirts. 

"A tiger !" screamed the boys in the street. 

"The tiger must be secured or destroyed," said the men 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 167 

to each other, as they met with ready guns. There was 
no sleep nor rest, while large and closely compacted par- 
ties scoured the country in every direction. The next 
morning the news was brought that the tiger had supped 
on a child and had breakfasted on a good man, who had 
started alone to join the chase. 

Pale-cheeked mothers drew their children within doors, 
which they closely barred ; the faint-hearted returned home, 
only the bravest keeping the field. They, in detachments, 
surrounded a wide district and slowly closing to a com- 
mon focus, by the waning afternoon heard each other's 
shouts across the circle. Here, there, by this one and that 
one, the tawny tiger was seen crouching, gliding among 
the bushes, confused by the tumult on every side. As they 
contracted the space the monster was seen more frequently, 
and at last so fairly, crouching under a shrubby cedar, 
that the aim of some true eye and steady hand sped a ball 
directly to his heart. 

Then there was great rejoicing. The weak and timor- 
ous, who kept on the outer limits of the circle, rushed in 
vociferously, and, with many a kick and blow displayed 
their bravery over the fallen brute, and when the brave 
marksman bore homeward the striped skin, thrown over 
his shoulder, followed by the gratified crowd, it was cer- 
tain that these would, to their dying day, recount their 
exploits in the famous tiger hunt. 

It is terrible to have a Bengal tiger loose in the streets, 
but there are monsters far worse than tigers, many of 
which are constantly escaping and prowling up and down, 
entering our houses by the front and by the side door con- 
tinually. These are lies. They are swifter of foot than 
the gaunt wolf; more cruel than the tiger; more remorse- 
less than ghouls and as insatiate as destroying flame. They 
steal joy, happiness and pleasure from the heart; destroy 
domestic love ; stretch the quivering limbs of innocence on 
a fiery rack; kindle the flames of madness in the brain; 
blast future prospects and acquired character; turn the 
springs of love into the bitter waters of hate; breed dis- 
sension and crimes unutterable, and, ascending to wider 
fields in diplomatic deviltry, engender, in one fell stroke 
all of these by hurling nation against nation in the de- 
moniac madness of war. 

The lie is loose; its talons are sharper than an eagle's; 
its jaws are stronger than a tiger's; its fangs are more 



168 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

poisonous than a cobra's ; its folds are tighter than a boa's ; 
its breath is as blasting as the simoon; loving the dark- 
ness of night, yet active by day ; sleepless as Argus, strong 
as Hercules. The lie is at large ; yet no one exclaims. No 
door is barred. No party of excited men sally out to sur- 
round and destroy it. Should they not a glimpse of its 
tawny form would they see. No steady hand and trained 
eye could secure a deadly aim, for it is as intangible as 
the wind, though terrible as the hurricane. The lie is 
loose, and no one can destroy it. So open the doors wide. 
Go out into the street freely. The risk is great, but all 
take their chances. We have become indifferent and stolid 
by familiarity. We hear of a youth destroyed yesterday, 
of the character of a woman blasted today. We may our- 
selves be the victims tomorrow, yet we raise no warning 
cry, and should we our voice would be answered only by its 
echo. 

There are too many loose to be destroyed. Besides, each 
one has an owner, to whose dark den it may possibly be 
tracked, and it is not for his interest to have it proven 
which of these furious beasts he has allowed to escape, else 
he might be held responsible for damages committed in its 
desolating course. 

Possibly it may be proven that lies did not, like Van 
Amburg's tiger, break through rusty bars, but through the 
door of the den, opened by fair hands for their escape ! — 
through the portal of sweet lips, which should be the rose- 
strewn pathway of soft words, unthinkingly let loose ! 
The temptation may be strong, the occasion great. Hold 
on to the lie, lest it escape from you, as you would bar the 
caged tiger, or as a hero holds a rabid dog. 



GOING BACK TO GRANDPA'S. 

"August 12, 1903, Julia Eliza Burnham entered into 
rest, aged four years and nine months. August 5 she 
started with her father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Burn- 
ham, on a trip down the St. Lawrence, for health and 
pleasure, and their tired brains and bodies seemed all re- 
sponding to the exhilarating change when quite sud- 
denly little Julia become seriously ill, and after four days 
entered the kindergarten of the Lord." 



A GOLDEN BBEAF 169 

She was the granddaughter of Mr. and Mrs. 0. C. Til- 
linghast, and Ruth is a daughter of theirs, who passed to 
immortal life in early young womanhood several years ago. 
The little one was fond of "going to grandpa's," and while 
on the St. Lawrence thought she was on Lake Erie, sailing 
to them, where she longed to go. 

I did go back to grandpa's — 

My Aunt Ruth took me there, 
Because I liked it always 

The best of anywhere. 
I thought the big boat, sailing, 

Should get there very quick, 
Where all of us are happy. 

And Julia never sick. 

But it was such a long time, 

And we were not there yet; 
Aunt Euth, she hugged and kissed me, 

And said, ''Now, come, my pet.'' 
Away we went together. 

Not in a boat at all. 
But somehow in a moment 

We were in grandpa's hall. 

O, I was glad to be there. 

And cuddle down to rest; 
It seemed so nice to see them; — 

They all love Julia best! 
We went before the others. 

And then we went away, 
For many friends were coming 

To celebrate my day. 

Aunt Ruth seems very lovely, — 

Just like my own mamma; 
She talks to me about you, 

And grandpa, and papa. 
She takes me down to see you. 

And lets me kiss you, too. 
We do not cry in heaven, 

We've such nice things to do. 

Your little girl still loves you. 

And she will grow to be 
An angel lady sometime; — 

This Aunt Ruth tells to me. 
The little heavenly children 

I play with every day, 
And I am not so sorry 

I had to come away. 



For I can go to see you, 
And you are coming on 



170 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

To where we live, Aunt Ruth says, 
And I'm not truly gone. 

So do not cry about me; 
I am not shut away, 

But still your little Julia, 
And growing every day. 



E. R. T. 



THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROUT. 

I never have been any place on Earth 

That I couldn't pick up some good; — 
Some useful lesson to help me on 

To a nobler womanhood. 
For it works us weal to do others good. 

No matter how small the deed. 
Or word, and we know that like brings like, 

As true as a planted seed. 

There's never a time, if we speak at all, 

That we cannot say something true; — 
Something inspiring to wholesome thought. 

More needed, maybe, than we knew. 
It may flash back in an instant speech 

From a half-awakened soul, — 
A first thought-gem, as a little fish 

May tell of a coming shoal. 

There's so much brightness scattered about 

In the minds of women and men. 
Which has not a way to express itself 

And so must grow dim again. 
Go! dig in the soil of ignorance, 

Smothering human kind; 
Disturb the dirt with the spade of thought. 

And the palsied souls unbind. 

You will see them stretch, arise, and grow, 

Joy-full of a freer life. 
And you can help them by guiding on 

Where thought is with action rife. 
For nothing will help one, body and soul. 

Like using one's latent powers! 
We grow self -centered, and happiness 

And victory are ours. 

It isn't much good to go and sit 

Where the others all talk to you. 
Express yourself, in your own best way. 

And gain an extended view. 
Take hold and think when the others think. 

Sift well what they have to say. 
And dare to differ, and tell them why. 

If lions are in the way. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 171 

Tbe time is past when the women and men 

Are putting their thinking out 
To jobbers; they do it themselves today, 

And lo! there's a scampering rout 
Of fat old Errors, and crippled Wrongs, 

And pet-poodle Sins, tricked out 
In arms! But nobody lays a hand 

On the Captain of the rout! 

''And who is the Captain?'' Oh, Free Thought,^ 

A giant young and trim: 
His head is like a Grecian god's, 

And he is strong of limb. 
He is calling the undiscovered ones, 

From the debris of the Old, — 
To dust themselves, and follow him 

To the heights their eyes behold. 

E. R. T. 



HUNGRY PEOPLE. 

We are ushered upon the career of an earthly existence 
with the cry of hunger upon our lips. The first labor of 
life is to appease the demand of Want. The little human 
organism cries in imperative tones for the wherewith to 
grow, and sets at once to work to appropriate the material 
at its command — to take the first step forward in the 
shrouded labyrinth of a never-ending life. The ceaseless 
effort to gain maturity, and comparative perfection, begins 
with cries and struggles, and so it continues along the 
snow-frosted and bloom-laden years, until they are lost in 
the unmeasured life which is no longer mortal. 

In the start hunger is generally legitimate in its de- 
mands. The appetites are natural and healthy. The child 
simply claims its right; it does not wish to rob others to 
feed itself; it does not cry for pernicious indulgences; its 
hunger is only the demand for healthy growth, and its 
labor is solely and justly in its own behalf. 

If we could only preserve the pure tastes of childhood 
how much more effective might be our lives. If we were 
wise enough to guard them, to prevent their becoming 
vitiated and turned into agents for destruction instead of 
agents for development, we might indeed ornament this 
world, and hungry people would cease to be beasts of prey, 
seeking whom they may devour. 

As we commenced life needing food, so we continue to 
need it all along our journey, and I doubt if ever in the 



172 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

future which stretches before us we shall reach a time 
when we shall be absolutely self-contained and self-sup- 
porting, needing nothing, asking nothing, receiving noth- 
ing. Sure it is, if we ever do reach that Godlike self- 
sufficiency we shall never more feel the pangs of hunger. 
Our souls will famish no more for that which nourishes 
their holy longings, and eyes which plead on earth will no 
longer pray in silence for something more divine than 
earth can offer. I know not what satiety that strange, 
heavenly country may yield us, but I expect to enter it 
hungry — hungry for the wisdom of the holy angels — 
hungry for their gentle welcomes and loving words — hun- 
gry for the purest friendships and the holiest communion 
of souls — hungry for heaven's melting music and un- 
painted beauty — hungry for the things of which I have 
dreamed but have failed to find on earth — hungry for the 
rest which cometh after the battle — and I know I shall 
find it all ! 

And still I shall want until I know all there is to be 
learned in the universe of my Father. I shall be hungry 
while I am imperfect, and the eons of ages which lie before 
me until I reach the white heights of a perfect soul I 
cannot count, but of our needs and the Divine Father's 
ways of answering them when we shall have passed on to 
the land of sunshine and eternal spring I will not now 
conjecture. I trust and bide my time, meanwhile reaching 
up for the guidance and assurance of the lily-handed 
angels, who have climbed up, treading, as we do, the 
thorny highways and byways of mortal existence to the 
country which lies in the blue distance beyond us. 

Let us think together of the hunger of our present 
existence ; not alone of that wailing cry which comes from 
the physical demands of a starving body, but also of that 
spiritual hunger, which is less discernible but not less 
demanding. It was the shrieking skeleton of starvation 
which caused and drove on the French Eevolution, with 
its horrid retinue of terrors. Do you think a well-fed 
nation could have enacted that tragedy? It is the hunger 
of Russia's serfs — now technically liberated, but still taxed 
until with the most meager of diets they are obliged to mix 
chopped straw to eke it out — whose strongest food is black 
bread and onions, which is thundered in the desperation 
of the nihilists. The wrongs of the downtrodden subjects 
of the most indecent monarchy on the face of the earth are 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 173 

so great that they have almost driven to madness the 
would-be savior of the poor. We sometimes shudder at 
what would seem to an American remorseless atrocity, but 
we also stand aghast at the wrongs which nurture and feed 
it. The cold, unobserving selfishness of a lineal aristocracy, 
with its boundless and bottomless wants, and the squalid 
poverty of the labor-chained millions to support it! If 
one word, one thought, uttered or printed, is put out in 
remonstrance, the old tyrant growls and "Get thou off to 
my hell — my Siberian prisons — and after George Kennan's 
disclosures, aided by the entire press of our country, we 
all of us know what that means. And knowing, is it any 
wonder that we are disgustingly surprised that our free- 
dom-loving America should have a little squad of United 
States senators mean enough to meet in secret session and 
pass an extradition treaty against Eussia's political refu- 
gees! Must our country be made a hunting ground for 
the blood-hounds of Eussia to chase down free thought? 
Must we hear her chains clank and her victims moan on 
American soil? A loud shout goes up to the ear of 
Columbia thundering "No !'' and a protest against the 
treaty and against the secrecy in which it was passed. 
It is a shame to the United States Senate, and unworthy 
of American institutions and methods. 

Loose Ireland from the yoke of oppression and starva- 
tion and we shall again hear her young men and maidens 
singing the old songs, "Erin Mavourneen" and "Erin go 
bragh." 

Men can be brutalized by luxury as well as brutalized 
by want. They will unrelentingly clutch at the meagerest 
fruits of hungry toil. They may become stunters and 
deadeners of their fellows who are stived and immured in 
the bitterest destitution. They look at their own well- 
limbed bodies and the scantily-fed poor who are toiling to 
fatten them. 

Anyone having eyes and using them may see in all our 
cities pale, gaunt-faced women with hungry children cling- 
ing to their skirts, who sew for scarcely enough to keep 
soul and body together. In constant fear of sickness, and 
eviction if the fingers are palsied or stop for rest, they 
have not even time to join in the chorus singing the doleful 
"Song of the Shirf which Tom Hood's sympathetic soul 
gave to the world. 

These poor creatures are too often compelled to brace up 



174 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

their starving bodies to the sacrifice by the use of narcotics, 
and then hope is indeed gone and destruction is swift- 
footed. 

I trust that the cry of these hungry women will yet be 
heard at the bar of justice, and that the many avenues 
now open to women will decrease their number. I hope, 
too, in heaven our robes will not need be fashioned by a 
class of hollow-eyed, white-lipped sewing angels who 
starved from earth into heaven. I hope jobbers will have 
done all their scheming here in the lowlands, and hunger 
have loosed her fangs from the flesh of my sisters. 

We do not forget the toilers in mines, buried from the 
sunlight, always in more or less danger, crouching with 
aching backs from day-dawn to day-close for scarcely 
enough to feed and clothe their families, knowing nothing 
of luxury, elegance or beauty, little of the society of home 
or family, or of anything which makes life worth living. 

This hunger of soul and body sometimes becomes unen- 
durable, and then we see the half -frenzied strikers rushing 
forth with torch and knife to avenge wrongs almost un- 
traceable. Blindly they fight, recoil, go back to labor and 
silently hope for a good time coming. May it come soon, 
and bloodless ! 

There is a hunger of the spirit which is even more 
general and more imperative than that of which we have 
been speaking, and which is not so easily satisfied. It is 
the hunger of the soul after truth, and beauty, and all 
excellence. The hunger for the food upon which it may 
grow to the divine proportions of angelhood. This hunger 
is the cause of all religious reforms, and the power which 
moves the world ahead. 

So, my friends, you may know when you are wanting 
nothing you are not likely to advance much, but will float 
sweetly on the billows, dreaming to their music, as your 
silken-sailed shallop rocks in the breeze. 

It is the ones who want something ahead who make the 
swiftest and bravest sailors on the ocean of life. 

It is the hunger of human souls which brought our new 
gospel into the world. The mentally starving sent up 
cries to heaven for more digestible religious food. Souls 
were dwarfed and starved on a poisonous diet they could 
not assimilate, so the angels answered the hungry cries of 
the world. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 175 

White angels cleft the airy sea 

And said, ''O, Earth, we pity thee!" 

The ceaseless moaning from thy vales 
Has burdened all thy fragrant gales. 

The dripping of so many tears 

Has saddened heaven these many years. 

Then all the air grew strangely sweet 
With chiming of the angels' feet. 

Homes full of mourning grew more light 
With wavering clouds of raiment white. 

And all the air was full of songs 

Of Earth's redemption from her wrongs. 

Jesus the crucified, the good, 

Sang the grand song of brotherhood; 

While choral bursts of symphony 
Proclaimed mankind's divinity. 

Earth's fallen angels, sunk so low. 
Peered up through smoky clouds of woe, 

And having rent their veils away 
They ran to greet the songful day. 

Those who were slaves to blighting wrong 
Cried: *'Lo! of Freedom is the song." 

The toiler caught the melody 

And cried : ' ' They sing equality ! ' * 

Woman who sat with bended brows. 
By the draped windows of her house, 

Arose, and felt the tides of strength 
Throb through her languid-heart at length. 

And stepping forward, hand in hand, 

With man she murmured : ' ' Life grows grand. ' * 

The little children jumped in glee 
And cried : ' ' The angels sing for me! " 

O, Earth was one grand music hall 
Einging some melody for all. 

And yet this heaven-sent beneficence made a great dis- 
turbance in theological circles, and one witty writer likened 
the church to the old woman who "didn't" live in a shoe. 



176 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

She who "didn't" live in a shoe lived in a strange old 
house lighted only by a skylight, and having but one door. 
Nobody could open or shut the door but herself, and she 
claimed she could see through the door as if it were glass. 
She had a great many children and grandchildren who 
troubled her greatly to know what was beyond the door. 
She threatened and scolded, but it did little good. One 
day a knocking was heard on the other side of the door. 

"What is that. Mother, a-knocking ?'' 

"Nothing," said she, crustily. 

"But we hear it, Mother." 

"Nonsense ! I don't hear anything.'' 

"But, Mother, are you not a little deaf?" 

"I, deaf? How dare you insult me? I can hear any- 
thing there is to hear ! Nobody ever knocked on the other 
side of that door and never will." 

"But, Mother, look! the door is opening now — now we 
can see beyond the door !" 

The old lady looked daggers and told them to go away 
from the door and stop meddling with it. 

"But look. Mother, see !" 
• "I can't see anything and there is nothing to see." 

"But, Mother, maybe your eyesight is bad." 

"My eyesight bad ! That's a pretty speech to make to a 
woman almost two thousand years old ! 

"I tell you," said she, "if you don't come away from that 
door, children, there is a great monster out there which 
will eat you all up alive !" 

The saucy things laughed and said: "The monsters 
look like Mother, and sister Mary and baby Bess, and 
brother John, who died and went to heaven. The monsters 
are only heavenly visitors. Mother." 

The old lady went into a dizzy spell, but declared the 
door was not open, and never could be opened. 

She crossed her feet and took a pinch of snuff, having 
placed her chair against the door. 

"Mother ! Move away ! The door is opening ! You will 
be hurt !" 

"'Hurt me? Nobody can hurt a woman two thousand 
years old !" 

But the door opened, upsetting the old woman and 
spilling her snuff. She had a stroke of paralysis, from 
which she never recovered, but the angels marched in 
singing songs of joy ! 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 177 

Thus it came with such power as argument, nor per- 
suasion, nor threats, could master. And it has proved a 
healthy diet upon which souls have expanded into happy 
and healthful lives. 

Sometimes the hunger becomes abnormal, and there is a 
craving for impossible things, and things which are harm- 
ful and demoralizing. We can all recall instances where 
mortals have relied too m.uch on the aid of immortals and 
done too little in their own behalf. But the few sad 
wrecks have taught the lesson of self-reliance to others, 
and advancement goes on. 

The nobleness of life depends upon its consistency, clear- 
ness of purpose, quiet and ceaseless energy. All doubting 
and repenting, when we come down to the strict analysis, 
are vice as well as misery. You ask, "Must not one repent 
and hesitate when one can't see one's way?" I say, with 
emphasis, we have no business to get into any way we 
cannot see. Our intelligence should be in advance of our 
acts. Whenever we do not know, we are liable to do wrong. 

"But," you say, "not in the dreadful way." 

Yes, many times in the most self-destructive way. Think 
of those who have put aside reason and walked blindly. 
Do you not recall a ghostly train of ruined souls which it 
would almost require a crucified God to redeem ! 

It is not well to turn the angels into nurses to watch us 
grown-up babies ! We need not burden them with what we 
shall eat, how we shall sleep, who is our affinity, will we die 
before or after our companion, should they marry again, 
etc., etc., etc. 

This brings to my mind a credulous old soul in New 
York State, who formed the habit of consulting a certain 
medium on everything. 

One day he went over hungry — to be crammed. She 
astonished him by telling him his healthy old wife was 
about to die and his second wife was already chosen by 
the spirits. 

This was indeed startling ! But all-believing, he started 
home and with a wise look in his e3^e asked his wife which 
of two cemeteries she would prefer to be buried in, in case 
she should die. 

She looked up with big eyes. "Wliv, Asa!" she ex- 
claimed, "what is up ? I don't think I shall die as long as 
I am doing the work of seven in the family — washing 
and all!" 



178 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

^'Wall, maybe you won't/' said he, "but Mrs. Little-Brain 
had a vision and saw you with your hand on the latch of 
the gate of glory, and she says you said : ^Tell Asa Widow 
Little-Brain's his spirit mate !' " 

I am happy to inform you that the smart old wife had 
sufficient strength to root out all that nonsense and lived 
to attend Widow Little-Brain's funeral. 

This age is one of unrest. Every day must have its 
sensation and its excitement. An appalling instance came 
under general observation within the last decade, and the 
two principal parties in this "pleasure exertion/' as 
Samantha Allen would call it, were the two monarchs, 
William II of Germany and Franz Joseph of Austria. 
They wanted something sensational and so they planned a 
long-distance ride from Berlin to Vienna, a distance of 
four hundred miles, and the conditions of this royal 
atrocity were that the horses were to be ridden without 
food or rest the whole four hundred miles, and the winners 
were to receive prizes from these monarchs. 

What was the result? 

Nineteen splendid horses lay dead on the road, and as 
many more died in great agony after making the distance. 
Count Starhienberg's splendid bay gelding Athos won the 
first prize, but he died after intense suffering, and one 
cannot help feeling it would have been better if the brutal 
count had died and the noble horse had lived. A hunger 
for excitement and notoriety which would induce two nine- 
teenth century monarchs to commit such an atrocity makes 
one cry to God for MEN and not BRUTES to sit in high 
places. 

Another laughable instance of a perverted hunger for 
excitement manifested itself at Norwich, Conn., one New 
Year's eve. One hundred sports of that place concluded 
they would open up the record for the new year by having 
a cock-fight in an old hotel three miles out of the city. 
They procured fifteen game cocks, went up into a third 
story chamber and, having muffled the windows, felt secure 
and in for a great time. There was also a Law and Order 
Society in Norwich, and when the show was well started 
the officers of said society went to the hotel. The pro- 
prietor showed them up, and with a loud rap on the locked 
door, they demanded admittance in the name of the law. 
Utter consternation seized the sports and every one of them 
jumped out of the third story windows — a lusty fellow of 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 179 

210 pounds leading the procession. He was killed by the 
fall; others had broken limbs, made bruises, and all of the 
M. D.'s of the city were kept busy to heal the law-breakers. 
That shows what cowards men will be when they are 
committing crime. People always pay dear for satisfying 
abnormal and sinful hunger. 

I do not know that these exhibitions are worse than a 
case of another kind which I venture to give you, although 
it is not a pleasant recital. I make an extract from a letter 
received — it is only one of many — from a person who was 
hungry for a sensational career. She was uneasy, fault- 
finding, indolent; a victim hunter; a parasite who would 
attach herself to whatever and whoever would feed her — a 
"sponge" which would absorb without benefit, whether 
filled with water, milk, or soup, but would spoil for all 
other use the nourishment at hand. But here is the letter : 

Mr. J. K. B- 



Dear Sir : I am anxious to spend some time in a healthy 
and cheerful family where I can gather strength and 
pleasure — I need this and must find it. I am impressed 
that I have a mission to perform. I do not know what it 
is to be, but I must change my surroundings. My duties 
burden me. I shall throw them off at once. My domestic 
relations are not satisfactory. I am magnetically starved, 
and would like to go into a family like yours, where I 
could rest and be developed for my glorious mission. I 
will say that I have been a lifelong church member — am a 
Methodist still. But I am not satisfied. I trust, my dear 
sir, you will answer at once, bidding me come, although I 
am a stranger to you. If you cannot take me, I will go 
into any family near you. I will be subject to any dicta- 
tions you may make to me. If this letter brings no answer 
I shall keep on writing. Address Mrs. E. Blank, 

Lock Box 943. Blanktown, Ind. 

This is not a fictitious letter. It is the voice of a hungry 
woman. A woman who imagines she is magnetically 
starved, and I have no doubt her husband is leeched until 
he is as thin as a ghost ! I presume he longs to die — and 
who can blame him? I know, if he is a tender-hearted 
gentleman, he pities the lady he wooed and, alas, won, and 
who has eaten him, inch by inch, and is now ready for 
another victim. 



180 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

But I hope you do not. I hope you have too much good 
sense to waste sympathy on anything so utterly futile as 
trying to appease her. You might throw her the peace of 
your home, the labor of your wife, the fresh, sweet mag- 
netism of your children, your own soul, and still she would 
be hungry. She begs to enter with her hungry eyes and 
ravenous constitution into that inviolable heaven of home- 
peace — the family circle. She wishes the most cheerful 
apartment, the easiest chair, the softest couch and the 
sunniest window. The most desirable food must be served 
to her by the hands which, by prolonged industry, have 
built the home, sacred to love and purity. She even asks 
the husband to become her spiritual dictator, and after 
housing and feeding her, send her off on a career of sickly 
sensationalism. Such persons, whether men or women, 
remind one of that contemptible bundle of feathered mean- 
ness — the cuckoo — which will not build for itself, but 
thieves into a nest already made by some nobler specimen 
of the feathered creation. 

They are unworthy of the place they ask in your home, 
and you have no right to grant it; no more right than you 
would have to let a starved wolf in among your rosy 
children to feed upon their tender flesh and bright blood. 

I rejoice that the day for such senseless desecration of 
rights is almost past. I have seen homes, happy as the 
fabled Paradise, destroyed by these hungry people. I have 
seen wives — true, saintly and divine in their devotion, 
driven out, loveless and homeless, from their places by 
these hungry women. I have seen children robbed of their 
parents, and their united protection, and sent out crying 
and lonesome into the world from a ruined home and 
divided hearts. Carnivorous human vampires have no right 
to rob children of their natural inheritances. They are 
robbers of the darkest dye who despoil homes ! 

Let them rave about the selfishness of isolated homes, 
and the lack of sympathy in this cold world. It is no 
fault of yours that they are cannibal in their constitutions. 
It does not follow that you must stand still and be eaten ! 
The world would be out another honest man, or woman, 
and nothing gained. 

0, hungry world ! I would you could be appeased with- 
out devouring the weak and helpless ! 

But in the forest I see the little carnivorous pitcher 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 181 

plant, holding up its pretty cup, half filled with rain and 
dew, for its innocent winged victims, which, after crawling 
down into its bearded neck, endeavor in vain to get out, 
and after fruitless efforts to do so, fall back into a watery- 
grave. 

In the blue sea above us I often hear the cry of the little 
songster as the horny spears of the hawk hush his music 
and tear his flesh. 

The beautiful antelope, drinking at some spring in the 
depths of an Asian forest, moans in helpless pain as the 
mighty lion pounces upon him to appease his hunger. 

Kings hunger for conquest. They marshal their armies ; 
the fame-hungry officers ride on glittering chargers and 
cry their orders. The men fight, the wounded reel and 
are vanquished; widows wail, children cry fatherless and 
the power-loving despot's hunger is regaled. 

The religious fanatic hungers for larger numbers and 
greater power. He writes his creeds, demands that they 
be accepted, makes ready his instruments of torture — 
sword, stake, dungeon, wheel — seizes the heretic, and with 
the shriek of a protesting soul, and the cry of pain- 
bleached lips in concession, his hunger is satisfied. 

The intolerant Rev. and his trained soldiers of the 
cross, encounter a stalwart foe in the young giant of 
Free Thought. They hunger for the legions who rally 
around him; so they hurl at him missiles of slander and 
untruth; epithets which blight and anathemas which 
blacken, and if, in weakness, one of his followers is over- 
powered and falls, be it strong man or defenseless woman, 
his hunger is quieted. 

But the carnivorous hunger which kills to sustain life 
is not the kind with which we are endowed. All we ask 
is to thrive naturally and healthfully, preferring a diet of 
truth to a hash of poisonous falsehoods — mouldy and 
tainted — which would turn fresh bright blood into that 
which is blue and stagnant. 

Healthy hunger and bright blood build up angels on 
earth. Stagnant, blue blood produces men and women 
who worship a carnivorous deity — ^hungry for praise and 
abject obedience; who sits enthroned somewhere in the 
heart of the heavens, awaiting the supreme moment in 
which to destroy the major portion of his children. 

Hunger is the tyrant which makes the world labor and 



182 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

keeps us all moving. We tire of his orders, but we must 
obey, for he holds the keys of the vaults of death and 
oblivion. But we may all be choosers of the viands on 
which we grow, and may we eschew all that which is 
poisonous and unclean, eating only the best, until we feast 
on the bread of divine love in company with the angels in 
our Father's house, which is eternal in the heavens. 

E. R. T. 



MOEE GENEEOUS THAN JUST TO SELF. 

Little girl from Summer Land, 

Here we are in wreaths of rue! 
Come and rest your busy hand 

On my hand; the stress is through. 
Eest, rest, rest! my faithful one, 

You who always hurried fast; 
Swift were your light feet to run 

Through the ways where wants were cast. 

And you picked them up to aid, 

Giving of your skill and art. 
Never stingy, nor afraid. 

Sweet Eose of the royal heart! 
Friends are quick to learn to lean. 

And you had the will to lift; — 
Dearest, if you could have been 

Selfish! — but 'twas not your gift. 

Oft I pray to souls who dwell 

With you in the Summer Land: — 
*' Breathe upon her life the spell 

Only angels understand. 
Teach her justice to herself! 

Balm her to indifference. 
When the parasites seek pelf. 

And she fails to make defense ! ' ' 

Oh, if I could wrench your life 

From the past and make it o'er 
You should walk no path where strife 

Clamors ' ' More ! ' ' — forever ' ' more ! ' ' 
For you could not turn away. 

Sparing self from cannibals, 
''Yes, I'll help you," you would say. 

Heeding all demanding calls. 

When the days of sickness came 

And my busy girl lay prone. 
Sad you said, * * Is this the same 

Eose as in the dear days gone!" 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 183 

' ' So much put upon you, dear ! ' ' — 
*'Yes, but 'twas my fault, you know; 

I was never checked by fear. 
And my pace was never slow/' 

Oh, I hunt about for ways 

To excuse the sad mistake 
Till my mind is in a maze, 

And my poor heart wild awake. 
Such a needless sacrifice 

To unworthier lives than yours! 
Clamorous want forever cries, 

And the cannibal endures! 

Ah! the tender, generous ones 

Like you, royal hearted Rose; 
The life-feeding human suns 

Give from life's dawn to life's close 
But our world-which-used-to-be 

Is enriched with \dews of you; 
Baby, toddler, maiden free 

Angel! — always sweet and true. 

E. R. T. 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

Inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. R. N. Wilcox and read at the funeral 
rites of their talented son, Robert Perry Wilcox. 

When comes the parting of the ways; 

O, day of grief! 
How fleeting seem life 's busy days, 

Golden but brief. 

The Morning, glittering, beautiful, 

Soon speeds away. 
The noonday, storm-swept, dutiful. 

That did not stay. 

The Afternoon, busy and bright, 

Hurried along; 
The shadows lengthened; sang the Night 

A slumber song. 

And so, forgetting all the past. 

He went to sleep, 
His struggling heart grew calm at last. 

Locked still and deep. 

And now the parting of the ways 

Has come, alas! 
He goes where summer always stays, 

And angels mass. 



184 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



To greet him in the morning land, 

Joyful and true, 
Each offering a helping hand, 

To life renew. 



And he, responsive as of yore, 

When living here, 
He met us smiling at his door 

Full of good cheer. 

Is brightening to his company, 

Beyond our sight, 
Well, what is our despondency 

Is his delight! 

Here, at the parting of the ways, 

Seen and unseen, 
We'll keep, by the dear yesterdays, 

His memory green. 



A FAE CALL. 



Oh, darlings of mine, in my old world so sunny and bloomy, 
Who live on the highlands whereto I am striving to clamber, 

Kemember the old life, and that it is sometimes as gloomy 
As when one is ill, and is locked in the quietest chamber. 

Old Days, — how they haunt us! 
Old wrongs, — how they taunt us! 
Dead birds, how they trill to us; 
Dream forms, how they thrill us — 



Oh, darlings of mine, on the hills which rise dreamy and pleasant. 
Farther off than my hopes, or my prayers, or my knowledge can 
seize on, 

I am hungering most for my own to descend and be present 
To harmonize Faith, and to warm intellectual Reason. 

A far call, I cry to you ! 

A flock of prayers fly to you. 

Bring soul food from heaven! — 

Unless it be given, 

I cannot fare on, — O my dead! 

E. E. T. 



TO SAEA A. UNDEEWOOD. 
On Her Birthday (And Mine), July 21. 

Heaven-made friend, this is your birthday, 

I am glad it is mine, too; 
That July day we arrived here 

This old world got two things new! 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 185 

We were not then educated, 

Just knew how to squall and eat, 
But I dare say our four parents 

Thought we never could be beat! 

Well, I feel great satisfaction 

That July the twenty-first. 
Full of fire, and growth and action, 

Made us two, — well, not the worst; 
And when we were warmly welcomed 

By our kindred, that hot time. 
Not a soul knew we were little 

Peach-pink wads of prose and rhyme. 

But we were, and other mixtures. 

Made to bind our winglets down 
Were put in; — a good idea! — 

Give me sense and keep your crown! 
We would not combine ballooning 

With our zig-zag trip on earth; 
Flying's nice for birds and angels; 

Flying women have small worth. 

We have had no time for gewgaws 

Climbing up Mount Use. Indeed, 
Our heads have had other business 

Than to magnify our needs. 
Doubtless we've our own opinions. 

And can put our business through, 
Managing our own dominions, — 

That's the way July folks do! 

True our friends and plenty of them; 

Finding blessings everywhere, 
We are having a fine journey 

To the Homeland over there. 
Friend, I thank you for your friendship. 

Strengthening my highest thought; 
Reach your hand, beloved soul-sister, 

Take this rhyme. It counteth naught. 



HEAVEN" AND HELL. 

A cruel doctrine, that of heaven and hell, to the sensi- 
tive soul, which is filled with a great love for mankind, 
delights in joy and is repelled with acute pain from suffer- 
ing! In what nightmare of ignorance was it gestated, to 
live, stalking like a horrible specter down the ages to the 
present ? 

Were this belief not existing in the minds of men would 



186 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

anyone conceive it in the present age of intelligence, or 
dare promulgate it? How glad we are that it is not as 
strongly advocated as formerly ; that it is kept in the back- 
ground and that our children do not tremble with fear at 
this terrific belief. Changed, toned down to the humanity 
of the time, yet lingering as an essential element of the 
Christian religion. 

How free, how glad is the mind when liberated from this 
incubus, which blasts the face of the fairest prospect. 
Those who have been educated in and by the church, when 
they escape, and understand the science of spirit and the 
spirit world alone can comprehend this joy in the fullest 
measure. The agony and suspense of a sensitive person 
who believes in the tenets of religion and is in doubt as 
to the future of those who are loved, words cannot express. 
Why do not all who believe this doctrine of eternal punish- 
ment become insane, knowing as they must that many 
dearest to them will inevitably suffer eternal torment? 
They do not — can not believe. 

At the beautiful grounds of a camp-meeting, where na- 
ture smiled with gratitude in the brilliant sunlight, and 
all was joy, I met a man who had escaped the prison of 
beliefs. The children of the lyceum were marching before 
us, as happy as the birds singing in the branches and as 
thoughtless of the theology which has tormented untold 
generations. ^^What demon ever suggested to man," he 
said bitterly, "that such were born depraved, and unless 
regenerated by confessing sins they never committed, are 
eternally lost? I once believed this; my wife believed it, 
and because our darling child died unconfessed her reason 
fled and she is hopelessly insane ! Constantly she accuses 
herself of having neglected her duty, and wails over the 
tortures she believes our child is enduring. All that I 
possess, even my life, would I give if she could believe as 
I now do, in the true life of the spirit !" 

Do the teachers of Christianity believe this doctrine? 
Not as the past believed. It is no longer an active tenet, 
to reject which is heresy. 

In a recent S3rmposium, where ministers of various sects 
expressed their soul convictions, a learned rabbi said that 
the Old Testament has nothing definite on the subject, and 
hence all that can be said must be speculation, and all that 
is in the New is ecstatic extravagance. 

Strange as it may appear, in that book given expressly 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 187 

to throw light on the great problem of futurity, the most 
learned students of its pages find nothing giving the least 
knowledge, and a great many passages which favor anni- 
hilation. 

A Presbyterian minister thought all depended on belief 
in Christ, and the unbeliever is sure of eternal punishment. 
"Hell is where God is not,'' forgetting that as God, as 
infinite, is everywhere, even in "the depths of hell," as 
much as on the throne of heaven, there can be no space in 
the universe for hell. 

A Baptist minister thought that the Bible is not a 
geography of the future world, and all that it says is typ- 
ical, and has no objective reality. In other words, there 
are no such places as heaven and hell. Another minister 
of that denomination said that he has no more reason to 
doubt the existence of a place of punishment than that of 
heaven. He delights to think that the dead are living 
somewhere; and that death eternally fixes their condition, 
and that "no hope" will be the one wail of the lost ! Yet 
he does not believe that they suffer in a hell of fire Why 
does he pause here ? The Bible teaches that, as certainly as 
it teaches the existence of hell. That an infinite all-wise, 
all-powerful being created the races of mankind and then 
shows justice and mercy by damning the larger portion 
for being as he made them, and doing exactly what he fore- 
knew they would, can only be believed by a mind dwarfed 
and blighted by the study of theology. 

A Congregationalist was sure that heaven and hell are 
conditions and not places, yet he exults in the thought of 
"outer darkness," outside the material universe, where no 
starbeam pierces the Cimmerian blackness and the soul 
dwells alone with remorse and memory through the ages 
of eternity ! 

Another did not know ; he had no evidence, yet he did not 
believe in a literal hell or devil, and knew of no minister 
who did. Henry Ward Beecher was assailed for heresy for 
utterance no more radical. It is little more than a century 
since Jonathan Edwards, founder of the orthodox creed, put 
forth that terrible doctrine that hell was paved with the 
skulls of infants not a span long ! And when his wife, in 
tears, held their infant before him and asked if that, too, 
was already damned, replied coldly that it was a "repro- 
bate, viper of vengeance, which Jehovah will hold over 



188 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

hell in the tongs of his wrath till they turn and spit venom 
in his face." 

Then it was that the saints sang such delightful songs 
as this: 

*' There is a never dying hell, 

And never ending pains, 
Where children will with demons dwell 

In darkness, fire and chains. 
Have faith the same in endless shame, 

For all the human race, 
For hell is crammed with infants damned 

Without a day of grace." 

To believers in this demoniac scheme of creation the 
brightest sunlight became a gloom, nature was draped with 
the weeds of despair and not a single star of hope appeared 
above the black horizon. 

The world moves, and even the adamantine creeds are 
being broken. What has wrought this wonderful change, 
which really having begun must reach perfect mental free- 
dom? What has dispelled the fear which our fathers in- 
stilled in our infantile minds and made us shiver when the 
wind howled in the darkness of the night, at the thoughts 
of a horned devil, of death and the judgment day? The 
Bible has remained the same; has added nothing, sup- 
pressed nothing. For generations belief in these dogmas 
was made a test of Christian faith. It is the spirit of the 
age. 

The world moves ! We rejoice that the gospel ministry 
dare not reiterate the old belief; that they have courage 
to tell the people how far they have drifted, in spite of 
Bible anchor and the cables of creeds and dogmas. These 
cables, once strong as steel, have rusted into dust and bind 
no soul who dares claim its birthright to think. 

Let us rejoice at this advance, the more when we com- 
pare with the patched and pettifogging views of the future 
life entertained by the most liberal church members, the 
beauties of that life as presented by the new philosophy 
and science of life here and hereafter ; that the next life is 
simply a continuance and extension of this into higher 
planes of activity. In that future life will be realized the 
ideals of this, an unfoldment by growth, as the flower ex- 
pands; in perfection of the sensuous means of acquiring 
knowledge and its assimilation. 

There is no punishment for its own sake, no arbitrary 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 189 

decree of judgment, no forgiveness or pardon; no savior 
but the salvation by growth out of false conditions. The 
spirit at birth sets out for perfection, not for perdition, 
and it will reach its goal. 

The worst use to which an immortal being could be put 
would be eternal torture ; torture inflicted not to reform or 
with hope or expectation of reform, but for the gratifica- 
tion of demonic vengeance. If a single soul was thus con- 
demned creation would be a failure, and the spasms of hell 
would eclipse the joy of heaven. 

Having the heritage of immortality and endless prog- 
ress, the burdens, scars, the stains, the earthward inclina- 
tions, the fever of passions, all, all, one by one, will be cast 
aside in the journey. If you gain a resting place for 
thought by calling suffering, physical or mental, hell, and 
happiness, heaven, it is well. It is one step onward from 
believing them to be places, but if you look closer you will 
see that however used these terms lead to misconception. 
The whole scheme of thought which they represent has 
passed away. The God who gave out rewards and punish- 
ments, like an Oriental tyrant, has no place in our con- 
sciousness. We are not to save our souls by vindicating 
God, nor cringe like slaves for fear of offending him. 

It is ours to be true to the laws of our being, and not to 
offend ourselves by defying them. To he "saved" is to be- 
come one with nature — that is, in perfect harmony with 
the laws of physical and spiritual heing. 



OUR FELLOW CREATUEES, HUMAN AND DUMB. 

Carlyle gave a bit of good advice when he said : "Speak 
not, I entreat thee, till thy thought has matured itself. 
Hold thy tongue till some meaning lies behind to set it 
wagging." 

Perhaps my thoughts may appear to be "tramp" thoughts 
coming before you in "rags and tags" and not in the velvet 
gowns of rare rhetoric, for I have summoned them in haste. 
Life is so full of duties, and I am one who can not put 
small things aside for great ones. If the President were 
coming to dine with me and I had the care of a late brood 
of chickens I should feed and water the chickens before I 
planned for the chief magistrate's dinner. I should con- 
sider it my duty to do so; nobody could laugh me out of 



190 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

doing it. I practice the golden rule in my dealings with 
my fellow creatures, as far as possible, and if, in the chang- 
ing cycles of animated, organized animal life, the particles 
now bound together in my body should pass into some 
speechless member of animal life I should not like to have 
it neglected and forgotten because some important human 
being was coming to dine. There seems to be a congestion 
of sympathy in the relation of man to his fellow creatures. 
There is quite a large amount of verial sympathy, but how 
little of that soul-connecting article which makes one sen- 
sitive being really feel for another. In other words the 
sympathy which enables us to put ourselves in another s 
place. Every day we have need of it — not a week goes by 
but the world would be more comfortable if we made use 
of it. We will not even listen to the tales of wrong and 
suffering which need our very personal attention. "Oh, 
don't tell me those harrowing things," we say. "They 
make me nervous." Is self so dear? So dear that igno- 
rance must envelop us ; that we -must shut our eyes to tor- 
ture and sin because they shock us. Such do little to lessen 
the misery in the world. They say we might attend a char- 
ity ball if the "best people" were managing it — and if we 
could have a new gown — and fresh roses to wear — but we 
are formed of such fine stuff we can not personally meddle 
with rough, brutal sin — talk about the nice, genteel little 
sins and — we'll think about it. Before we really count 
much we must get out of ourselves — look beyond our own 
aggregations and wants and learn what and who are our 
sharers in this mysterious manifestation called sentient 
life. Our world is a little world, and we are only a small 
part of that. But we live, we love, we die. So do all our 
fellow creatures. We humans are not the only organized 
members of animal life who live, and love, and die. The 
beautiful seal-mother, in icy northern waters, who is slain, 
leaving her young to starve piteously crying on icy rocks 
that milady may wear her velvety skin for a cloak lives, 
and loves, and dies to meet unjust human demands. The 
beautiful heron, whose wedding garment of airy plumage 
is so coveted by ladies to wear as hat decorations that she is 
shot just before her nestlings are able to fly, and they are 
left to starve, calling for the mother bird, in the nests 
which will be their graves, lives, and loves, and dies to 
meet unjust human demands. And I have seen many a 
lady, who would faint at the sight of blood, parading our 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 191 

churches and streets with the skeleton egrettes, the plumes 
of the murdered mother bird upon her headgear. I believe 
it is because she does not know the bare, bad facts in the 
case. Self has been too dear. Let us grapple with the 
monster of cruelty regardless of self. Suppose you were 
enduring torture and those who witnessed it should say, 
"Oh, my nerves !" and pass by on the other side. Truth 
would cry back "not nerves, but selfishness ?" If we turn 
away from our fellow creatures in their extremity, so our 
cries in extremis will go out unheeded. Justice declares 
it. But let me mention another horrible demand. Since 
seal skin has gone out the black Persian sheep and Persian 
baby lamb has come in. Will our ladies decorate them- 
selves with the jetty, curly little skins when they know how 
they are obtained? Will they hear and then say "I will 
never wear anything so cruelly stolen from even a dumb 
fellow creature." To obtain this rare and costly fur the 
unborn lamb is torn from the living mother at the time 
when the pitiful little skin is most black and curling and 
she is afterwards killed. Ladies do you long for this new 
fad in fashion ? Will you buy Persian baby lamb for your 
daughters to wear? If so, may your sensibilities be quick- 
ened until you scorn to clothe yourselves at the price of 
such barbarous cruelty. 

I think the trouble with most of us is we try to learn 
about what pleases us, but we turn from what saddens us. 
We even turn from our own duties if they are very disa- 
greeable. Shall we let crying wrongs go on and never raise 
a voice against them ? In regard to our superficial dealings 
with our human fellow creatures Ella Wheeler Wilcox has 
forcibly expressed my meaning. She says : 

''Feast and your halls are crowded, 

Fast, and the world goes by; 
Succeed and give and it helps you live 

But no man can help you die. 
There is room in the halls of pleasure 

For a large and lordly train, 
But one by one we must all file on, 

Through the narrow aisles of pain.'' 

If we only will consent to undo ourselves from the pink, 
perfumed cotton in which we as women have been made 
to believe we must shield ourselves in order to be womanly, 
we can do a great deal in relieving humanity of its egotism, 
which has made it bat blind to its true place in nature. 



192 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Man is inseparably linked to all sentient life. That life is 
sacred, and each individual life is a small incident in the 
universal manifestation of energy. Once realized, this 
fact helps us off our stilts and we take on a look of humil- 
ity. We have always acted on the idea that everything was 
made especially for man and that he is heaven created boss 
over all the rest of creation. This hallucination of self-sat- 
isfied humans has been the root of nearly all the mischief 
and oppression this world is bothered with. Man has be- 
lieved that to him is given the measure of right and wrong; 
and he has been most exacting in the use of it. 

How different the results growing out of this inflated 
self-esteem from the man who sees that he is only a part 
of a mighty plan which knows and shows no favoritism 
and condones no injustice ! Every sentient creature is 
struggling — struggling for adaptation — struggling to keep 
itself in harmony with its environments. Therefore we 
have moral relations to all members of animal life. All 
creatures so far as we know are susceptible of happiness 
and misery. Therefore we have right and wrong. Right 
seems to be the promoter of happiness and wrong the pro- 
moter of misery. Now, in the blossoming of the ages there 
has been a slow widening of the standard measure of right 
and wrong. All the inhumanity and bloodshedding which 
have blemished the years have been because of the narrow- 
ness of men's vision. The happiness of too few has been 
considered. The few have said : "I must be happy. I am 
of consequence. You lower humans and you dumb crea- 
tures — it is no matter about you. You are made different 
from me. You don't feel and suffer as I do — if you did 
it doesn't matter. You have no soul. I am immortal. I 
can put you to all uses for my sustenance and well being. 
Yoi. are my slaves ; justice and mercy are not to be spoken 
of in connection with the inferior races." 

If we humans only knew what we do not know! If we 
would be practical saints here instead of theorizing so much 
about the grand figure we are going to cut in the by-and- 
by of immortality, the inhabitants of this planet would be 
better off. If we could get off our overcoats of selfishness 
and indifference and thinh how we should feel if we had 
to change places with certain ones of our fellow creatures, 
we should certainly be more merciful and just. 

We could not forget when our fingers are blazing with 
jewels that around about us are many thin benumbed 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 193 

fingers without even mittens to keep them warm. We 
could not eat our hot, nourishing breakfast, get into our 
warm wraps, set our feet on a hot soapstone and ride to 
church after a poor horse, which had eaten two nubbins of 
corn and a little straw for breakfast, been allowed about 
half what water he wanted to drink, had his tongue 
skinned by having a frosty bit thrust onto it, and, to cap 
the Hst of abuses, been hitched out in the wind with a very 
small cotton horse blanket thrown over him, while we in 
warm quarters prepared ourselves for the sweet by-and-by. 
We could not pet and rear a dog, one of the most constant 
and faithful of animals, until his greatest happiness was in 
his friendship for us, and then give him away to some 
young "Arab'' who wanted to hunt woodchucks or teach 
him tricks. I know a young woman who was engaged to 
wed a young man who had a beautiful dog of which he 
was very fond. She insisted that he should get rid of his 
dog before they were married and went to keeping house. 
He should have said: "No, Miss; if you demand such 
treachery of me I would rather have the dog than you." 
But he sent his pet adrift, and after receiving all kinds of 
ill treatment for a few months it died. I was not sorry for 
her when after a few years he ran away with another gown- 
wearing specimen of perfidy. She had taught him a les- 
son of inconstancy and it had widened to wife desertion. 
While she was weeping over his inconstancy I wonder if 
she remembered the sorrow of the faithful dumb creature 
she made him desert and drive away for her sake. Such 
lessons are unsafe. 

A woman who will take the petted family cat and, m 
some strange mood, tie her into a basket, put her under 
the buggy seat and carry her off a dozen miles to drop her 
in a strange, friendless country is an individual I would 
not dare trust. I am fully convinced that if she could not 
be true to her dumb friend she would not be to her own 
kind. One should be careful what lessons are imparted, 
especially to the young. A great deal of nswspaper com- 
ment is made on football, for and against. The records of 
the killed and disabled are read aloud in almost every fam- 
ily circle in the land. The excitement ranks next to the 
prize fights. Patient mothers make padded suits for their 
sons who are members of the town teams and wait the 
finish of the games with anxiety and unstrung nerves. They 
try to console themselves by thinking they are the mothers 



194 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

of young Hercules, but they stand a good chance to be the 
mothers of young cripples. If you wanted to raise a 
straight lot of young horses would you get them into an 
inclosure and put them through such a pawing and kick- 
ing and stamping regime as our boys undergo at ball 
games?. Would you think you were improving them by 
having them come out with broken noses, bulged eyes, 
sprung joints, jammed faces and broken bones, to say noth- 
ing about the vicious habits they would surely contract ? A 
man would be called anything but sensible who would cul- 
ture horses in that way. It would be bad treatment for 
even the brayers with long ears. Everybody would say he 
was trying to make good animals into wild scrub stock, 
and that their dispositions would be ruined. Football must 
be one of the devil's invention to break down self-control. 
At least it is great medicine when that result is desired. It 
gives nerve when there is a job of hazing to be done and 
also gives the "me big injun" part of mankind a chance to 
manifest. It is better than foxhunting and hunting tame 
deer, for it is human against human and a matter of choice. 
But I think anything so uselessly dangerous should be pro- 
hibited by law. Especially do I think it should be for- 
bidden as a school pastime. It is not in line with the 
object of education, which is discipline and self-control. 

As the crowning success of animal life, man, who cer- 
tainly has more vices than any otjier animal, and also 
greater skill and wisdom, owes certain duties to other mem- 
bers of sensitive life. As far as is possible these lower 
races, especially our domestic animals, should have pleasant 
and happy lives. They are entitled to this for the service 
they do us. You know what aids they are. We should 
impress these things upon our children at home and in our 
schools, because it is right and just and because it will 
make them better in every relation in life which they may 
be called to fill. 

We should set our faces against all cruel methods of 
education. The object of learning should be to expand 
and elevate, not to degrade and brutalize. Accenting this, 
I desire to mention vivisection, which has been so increased 
by the lavish donations of influential millionaires as trib- 
ute to science. But let us understand what this method of 
instruction employed so largely in medical colleges and 
universities is and its effect on those who use it. 

Vivisection is the cutting up of live animals — also poi- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 195 

soning, burning, smothering, freezing, breaking the bones, 
irritating the bared nerves with electricity, dissecting out 
the stomach and other organs, etc., etc. It is done in 
nearly all the universities and medical colleges of the 
world. I will not, in this place, try to impress more con- 
cerning this terrible art than to illustrate by a story what 
it can do to debase moral perceptions. I hope to make you 
abhor all which is crime-producing, resolving: 

''That for this Goddess, Science hard and stem — 
We shall not let her priests torment and burn. 
We fought the priests before — and not in vain — 
And as we fought before, so will we fight again.'' 

The Zoophilist, an English periodical, published a story 
which shows the depth of moral obtuseness one must sink 
to in order to be an accomplished vivisectionist. It is not 
often an operator so simply tells the truth, but we thank 
the physician for this particular view of nature, which 
reveals the ins and the outs of this dire art in all its spir- 
itual degradation and physical agony. It is taken from 
"The Confessions of a Physician,'^ a book written first in 
Russian, by V. Veresaeff, and translated into French, Ger- 
man and English, of course attracting wide attention 
everywhere because of methods disclosed regarding medi- 
cal education. 

The vivisector must be remorseless. Dr. Veresaeff says : 
"It is necessary to fully grasp the tremendous importance 
of vivisection to science, to be able to understand there is 
but one way out of the dilemma — that of stifling the re- 
proaches of conscience, of choking down pity and closing 
one's eyes to the living agony of the animals sacrificed." 

When a human being is so educated as to dehumanize 
him, is he worthy of trust in any position in this world? 
Eead the following true picture and remember it long as 
an example of the degenerating effect of what Ingersoll 
called the crudest cruelty : 

"Two monkeys of the Macacus species were purchased by 
our laboratory for inoculation with recurrent typhoid fever. 
During the three weeks they remained with us, before the 
commencement of our experiments, I had time to become 
greatly attached to them, especially to the male specimen, 
whom we had named 'Stepka.' 

"Whenever I entered the laboratory he used to rush up to 
the front bars of his roomy cage in expectation of a present 



196 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

of sugar. After having fed my pets I used to let them 
out. The female, 'Jilda/ was more timid; she would run 
about the floor clumsily, looking round at me in fear. 

"If I made a slight movement she would turn and fly 
back to the cage. Stepka, however, treated me quite as a 
familiar chum. As soon as I sat down he would immedi- 
ately clamber on my knees and begin to search my pockets, 
eyebrows lifted and his large close-set eyes peering forth 
with comical seriousness. Pulling my percussional mallet 
from my breast pocket he would set up a suppressed cry, 
his eyes open wide, and then commence to examine the 
bright instrument with minute curiosity. 

"After having gazed his fill Stepka would drop the ham- 
mer on the floor, and with the same melancholy serious- 
ness, as if performing a necessary but very tiresome task, 
proceed with the search of my person. 

"Carefully taking me by the beard, he would remove my 
glasses with his thin brown fingers. But all this soon palls 
on him. Stepka climbs up on my shoulder, sighs, looks 
about him, then, espying a corked phial, of a sudden — 
quick as a dart — springs on the table — his favorite amuse- 
ment is the uncorking of bottles. Stepka quickly and 
neatly draws the stopper, stows it away in his cheek pouch 
and tries to escape to the ceiling, via the blinds. He knows 
I will deprive him of his prize. I capture him half way. 
'Tsi-tsi-tsi !' he chatters with displeasure, drawing in his 
head, screwing up his eyes and trying to get away. I pos- 
sess myself of his plaything. Stepka contemplates the 
scene sorrowfully. Suddenly his eyes brighten; he jumps 
on to the window sill and begins to chatter excitedly. Out- 
side a cab is drawn in the street. Stepka cranes his neck 
and stares at the horse with insatiable inquisitiveness. I 
stroke him, but he removes my hand impatiently with his 
own little paw, settles down more comfortably and con- 
tinues to scrutinize the horse. A dog runs across the street. 
Stepka is alert, the fur on his neck and back bristles up, 
his eyes become restless and he again commences his chat- 
tering, greatly excited, and peers first through one pane, 
then through another. The dog runs away. Stepka scam- 
pers across the long table, upsetting glasses, and follows 
the dog out of sight from window to window. 

"One might have passed whole hours in the rascal's com- 
pany without being bored. I felt that a bond of common 



A GOLDEN SHEAP 197 

sympathy united us and that we had arrived at mutual 
understanding. 

"I did not Hke the idea of cutting out his spleen myself 
and a comrade performed the task for me. When the 
wound healed I inoculated Stepka with typhoid. When I 
entered the laboratory now Stepka no more rushed to the 
bars as of yore; weak and ruffled, he sat motionless in his 
cage, staring at me with strange darkened eyes ; every day 
he got worse ; when he essayed to climb on to his perch his 
hands failed him, he lost his hold and fell to the bottom of 
his dwelling. Finally, he became too weak to rise at all; 
wasted, he lay still with grinning teeth and moaned 
hoarsely. And it was before my eyes that Stepka died. 

An obscure martyr to science, he lay a corpse before me. 
I gazed upon that pitiful little body, upon that pretty 
naive little face, from which the death agony even had been 
powerless to efface its customary serio-comic expression, 
and experienced a most unpleasant feeling. To tell the 
truth, at heart I was a little ashamed of myself. When I 
recalled all his engaging little tricks and funny ways I 
could not drive away certain vague misgivings as to wheth- 
er my crime had been, after all, so very many times less 
grave than if it had been perpetrated upon a child. Such 
sentimentality in regard to the lower animals strikes you 
as ridiculous! But are the criteria of sentimentality so 
very hard and fast and immutable? Two thousand years 
ago how loudly would a Roman patrician have laughed at 
the sentimental person who expressed indignation at his 
casting a slave guilty of breaking a vase to the murenae (i. 
e., the fish ponds). In his eyes a slave was a ^lower ani- 
mal,^ too.^^ 

Continuing, the Zoophilist tells us that: 

"Dr. Veresaeif had sensations which he says were very 
much like pricks of conscience. On entering the laboratory 
of a colleague one was struck by the din of groans, bark- 
ing and yelping that filled the room ; some of the dogs were 
in their death throes, others lay still, whining feebly. The 
eloquent eyes of these dying dogs ennobled by their tor- 
ments were ^almost human in their expressiveness,' and 
filled him with shame. 

"He records the words of a great surgeon who had vivi- 
sected remorselessly ; in his latter years he said : *I would 
never be able to bring myself to perform the same cruel 



198 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

experiments upon animals which at one time I carried out 
so zealously and with such nonchalance.' 

"'None of this can be denied/ says Veresaeff. 'Mais 
que f aire ?' and declares that 'To renounce vivisection were 
to place the future of medicine in jeopardy, to condemn us 
doctors forever to the uncertain and barren paths of clin- 
ical observation/' 

If that is the result let the doctors be condemned to the 
dissection of cadavers and to clinical observations. 

E. R. T. 

THE TEEES ABOUT THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

I love the trees, and they talk to me. 

Whether in leaf or bare, 
Of those who planted them carefully. 

And watched their growth with care. 
The walnuts, elms, oaks, and poplar trees, 

Locusts, cedars and firs; 
The basswoods, loved by the honey bees, 

And chestnuts, with savage burs. 
In summer, or winter, have melodies 

Floating among their boughs. 
And blended with wind-sung memories 

Are voices which haunt the house. 
Dear grandma speaks in the walnuts old; 

She planted them for use. 
And many a bushel her thrift has sold. 

When money was her excuse. 
A score of maples line up the street 

Both ways from the farm-house old; 
On frosty mornings they flaunt complete 

Their crimson, and green and gold. 
The tall elm sings of my little boy; 

It grew to its height so soon, 
Just like its planter, a growing joy — 

Both lives a priceless boon! 
It was spit-fire Madge who one day called, 

' ^ I '11 plant you a poplar sprout ! ' ' 
So there in the Lombardy leaves enthralled 

Her bright young face blooms out. 
Oh, every tree has its history. 

And is rooted in my heart. 
I can not unfold you the mystery 

Of life, and love's tender art! 
I almost see, as the shadows lie 

Soft on the dying grass. 
The souls of the Yesterdays go by 

A-singing as they pass. 
Ah, some are blooming and beautiful; 

There are song-birds on their heads, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 199 

And they are singing! How musical 

The ever-dear robin reds! 
But some are creeping along in gyves; 

Dirges they seem to chant. 
They look like witches, or gruesome thieves, 

In raiment dark and gaunt. 
Some stole my hopes, and some stole my time; 

Some numbed me, through and through, 
Till I could not sing a thought in rhyme 

Because I'd so much to do. 
Some seized my pets, and the dear things lie 

Buried about the grounds: — 
I speak their names with a loving sigh 

When I pass their little mounds. 
A cat mews out in the dark tonight. 

But my pets are ever still. 
My St. Bernard, in the soft moonlight, 

Sleeps in his grave so chill. 
So dear, so dear is the homestead soil. 

And the things it holds to keep. 
Let me have the farm with its joy and toil, 

And here let me go to sleep. 



HER LAST RECEPTION. 

This is her last reception. Dressed with care, 
Adorned with blossoms, smiling in repose, 
The precious lady welcomes us. 

We meet 
To do her honor ere her body, used 
By her sweet spirit, serving it so long, 
Is laid away. Its use is ended here. 
A beauteous temple for a royal soul. 
It will not be forgotten. 

She has found 
Life can go on without it. 

Joy of joys 
Must be the confirmation of this dream- 
Cherished so tenderly by every heart 
Beating around me in this house today! 
We can go on, unfleshed, in fuller life 
Than we have joined in here! 

So we believe; 
That is the last white hope which brightens death, 
And lights the Lethean waters! 

Safe across. 
Upon Heaven's heights, they signal back to us 
The golden truth of immortality. 
We meet in honor of her victory 
O'er suffering and death. To miss her much — 
Remember her with love, and gratitude. 
Try to grow gentler and more saintly-wise 
From her example — that will be our aim. 



200 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Now she is veiled behind the gauze of death, 

And we may praise without offending her 

Eare modesty. Let us in love bestow 

The subtle flowers we saw bloom in her life, 

The while she walked among us in the flesh. 

Truth was her lilyj she was true as truth! 

Eoses her darlings — she was warm as theyj 

Pansies her adoration; like to them, 

Unostentatious, sweet, and beautiful. 

She won us silently. Pinks charmed her, too; 

Their spicy sweetness seemed a part of her! 

So, while her body lies amidst earth's blooms. 

Let us believe her gentle soul is here. 

And bends to take our garlands on her brow — 

Our wreath of honest praise. 

Good-bye! God speed. 
Our sister into Heaven's eompletest rest. 

E. E. T. 



A BITTEENUT, OE A PEACH? 



How are you rating this wild world, my friend? 

How is it meeting your needs? 
Does the old road look pleasant which leads to the end? 

Or gloomy, and bristling with weeds? 

We rate things according to taste, don't you know, 

And sometimes by taste of the mouth; 
We see things not always the same; there's a glow 

In the strawberry gardens of youth! 

But what do you find in the world, anyway? 

Are the things you desire within reach? 
Do you hunt for the bitternuts growing your way, 

Or declare, ' ' I will find me a peach ! ' ' 

If so there'll be peaches — yes, peaches and cream, 

For such as demand them, and search; 
And the bitternut ghouls will disparage, and scream, 

To the peach-folk, ' ' Come down from your perch ! ' ' 

But they'll not be hurrying! shadows and shine 

Alternate, the further we go 
And if June, in her roses, seems wholly divine. 

Why, in winter we tour in the snow. 

I am bound to maintain while I stay here at all 
'Tis a peach-of-a- world, don't you know. 

And the ones who sit high on their perches and squall, 
* ' 'Tis a bitternut ! ' ' can 't make it so. 

E. K 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 201 



WHEN FEITZIE THINKS OP ME. 

** Who's Fritzie?" He's our neighbor's dog, 

A bright canine is he, 
And there are times, quite frequently, 

When Fritzie thinks of me. 

It is not when he goes to hunt. 

Important as the men, 
Finding the little ''cotton-tails," 

Or chicken-robber's den. 

But when the hunters all get home, 

As hungry as can be, 
And gather 'round the smoking meal, 

Then Fritzie thinks of me. 

For he is driven out of doors, — 

The hungriest of the lot. 
To wait until the rest are through, 

Then probably forgot. 

As he lies shivering on the porch. 

And nothing comes for him. 
That dog remembers I'm his friend 

Now, and have ever been. 

He starts, and runs a half a mile 

To where I live! You see 
I've always saved a meal for him, 

And give it quick and free. 



And we two sympathize. 
While Fritzie wags his stumpy tail 
And loves me with his eyes. 

I keep a water dish for him. 

And he drinks lavishly — 
Whene'er he's "up against it hard" 

Then Fritzie thinks of me. 



E. E. T. 



ARE WE WELL SHELTERED. 

I look out over the long reach of snow-clad fields, far 
away to the boundary of forest, which bristles darkly 
against the darker sky. Night is fast coming, and the ris- 
ing wind soughs in sounding gusts and seems to penetrate 
the walls of the room even to the blazing fire. There are 



202 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

frost needles in the air, and the window panes are gather- 
ing strange foliage at their corners. Zero and a blizzard 
wind cruel, wolfish and merciless, drifting the snow in fan- 
tastic forms. Warm, luxurious, comfortable within, the 
evening lamp is lighted and we may take our ease ! Yes, 
if it were so of all the world; if to the bright gladness 
within came only waves of gladness from without. 

But it is not so. In the wail of the wind I hear strange 
voices; the moan of herds on the western ranches exposed 
to the merciless storm; of myriads of birds and beasts, 
enduring with pitiful patience, and above all, over all, the 
stifled cry of human wretchedness. 

It is a night of pain, and the waves thereof converge on 
the cozy fireside as voices along innumerable wires to a cen- 
tral office. They can not be cut off. They can not be sent 
on other connecting wires. All must be heard, and wail 
their rending tale of despairing hope and utter failure in 
the struggle for life. 

Can we be happy, with every surrounding pleasant, a 
warm fire, a cozy home and loving company? Not while 
there is suffering for others. Full fruition comes only 
when there is not one in all the world to reflect on us, a 
wave of pain. More emphatic is made our discontent, if we 
would while away the hours by reading the news of the 
world. Surely there are magnanimous deeds to record and 
fraternal thoughtfulness that will brighten the shadows. 
Eead and you will ask, have they forgotten to mention 
good deeds and noble thoughts, or are there none to record ? 
It would appear that the waves of suffering, despair and 
crime have broken on the press and crystallized in columns 
for even the most calloused to see ! 

"Last night a watchman at the railroad depot heard a 
stifled cry in a dark corner and, investigating, found 
wrapped in a bundle of rags an infant almost frozen. He 
sent it to the Infants' Eest." 

There is no waste of sentiment in this brief item, yet 
what hideous pictures it presents ! What suffering will a 
mother endure before her maternal instincts are destroyed 
and she deserts her child ? Was it born in shame, the prod- 
uct of a too trusting heart betrayed? Then think of the 
long drawn-out agony and fear and helplessness against 
the censure of the world, and after all the agony, the de- 
spair leading to the desertion of the child ! Poor mother ! 
Poor child ! Despicable, unfeeling society ! Or, perhaps, a 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 203 

child that would have been received with loving caress, hut 
driven by want snarling like a wolf at her footsteps, with 
tears and an aching heart the mother leaves it, with a 
prayer that it may receive from charity what she can not 
give. 

The next item is of "an old lady past four score years, 
once wealthy, reduced to poverty, deserted by friends, was 
found by a policeman in a room without fire, almost insen- 
sible from the cold." 

Is there ingratitude comparable with that of the child 
who, forgetting the years of care and self-sacrifice of his 
mother, deserts her when she can be of no further use? 
Poor old mother, in the freezing room, what thoughts must 
come of the time she gave her life for her children and 
with patient self-sacrifice clothed, fed and sheltered them ; 
the pride she felt in their success and the fond dreams 
which filled her soul of their affection for her ! Waiting, 
waiting, year after year, for the steps of sons and daugh- 
ters who, absorbed in their own pleasures, will never come ! 
They come to their reward, for as you treat your parents 
shall your children treat you. This is Just retribution. 

Following these items is a longer narrative of a widow 
with four children found starving in a room from which, 
because the owner could not eject them he had removed 
the windows and door. And for such owners laws are 
made, and they are protected in their rights to use their 
own without regard to others. Men claiming to be Chris- 
tians, to believe in human brotherhood, more cruel in their 
avarice than wolves. 

"The cold weather has caused great suffering east and 
west because of the scarcity of coal." Thousands and hun- 
dreds of thousands of families have no means to keep them 
warm. Untold wealth of coal, laid in the earth, for the 
good of all, held by a few, who have made the condition of 
the human moles who extract it so intolerable that they 
struck in desperation. 

The wife of a mine owner has a diamond-studded collar 
for her pet poodle, the miner's family is starving on doled 
charity, and millions of people have fireless homes. 

Shall such injustice be? the wrong triumph? the few 
waste the products of the toil of the many? The people 
make the laws, and have they so made them as to be bound 
hand and foot, and made a soul and body sacrifice to the 
brazen image of avaricious, unscrupulous ownership ? 



204 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Thus on, for column after column, the dreary pages, till 
the world appears a stage for the coming and going 
of crime and wretchedness. It was the same yesterday as 
today, except the names of the actors were changed; to- 
morrow the same with new names, as the old are effaced. 

And shall we be happy and content because our homes 
are sheltered? Can we, when the whole world vibrates 
with deeds of shame and wrong ? These four walls shelter 
me, but not so well that I can not hear the rush and roar 
of the storm without. Not so well that it insulates me 
from the currents sent forth from every suffering creature, 
or from any human being in distress. Nor do I desire the 
walls should shut me and mine within the pale of igno- 
rance. Of what others bear I would at least in my weak 
helplessness know, and send out my prayers and sympathy. 
From the elements I am sheltered. There is tropic warmth 
in the grate, there is food in store and raiment — from the 
turbulence of spiritual forces, the quivering of hunger, 
want and wretchedness of millions worthy as myself I am 
not sheltered, and am thankful I am not. I would have it 
as a goad to urge me on to do in the small way that comes 
to every one something to alleviate and lighten the burdens 
by generous deed or smile of encouragement. 

I am not well sheltered while there are homeless wander- 
ers. 

I am not well warmed while there are those shivering 
with cold. 

I am not well fed while hunger stands at the door of 
those who have patiently given their strength in producing 
what others have taken. 

To be happy the whole world must be happy. There can 
not be a heaven for angels if there is a hell. Before the 
angels can go on they must bring up the lower world. 



THE CAPTIVE EAGLE. 

An eagle had been captured, confined in a cage and 
placed on exhibition. For a time he struggled and, with 
angry screams, smote his wings against the confining bars. 
With defiant eyes he met the gaze of the curious crowd and 
refused the food thrown before him. His keepers were 
kind and attentive to all his wants except the one greater 
than all, his freedom. What were all things else when the 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 205 

bars kept him from his daring flight over moorland and 
mountain; kept him from soaring above the storm clouds 
and defying the arrows of the lightning; kept him from 
joining his mate, in the nest in the pine rising out of the 
crag which caught the light of the morning when night lay 
in the valley? Was not his cry constantly to break the 
bars? And as his bondage continued day after day and 
month after month he ceased to beat his wings in useless 
effort, ceased to cry out in angry defiance. His feathers 
became ruffled and soiled, his wings drooped and the fire 
which once lit his eyes faded into a pathetic appeal. 

There came in the passing crowd one who had seen the 
eagle in the glory of his flight and was touched by the 
mute eloquence of his condition. *'For shame/' he cried, 
"to hold the monarch of birds in bondage/' and unfastened 
the door of the cage. The eagle, seeing the opening, cau- 
tiously advanced and stepped out on the platform. He had 
been so long confined he had almost forgotten the use of his 
freedom. He slowly drew up his drooping wings, several 
times he raised himself and shook out his pinions. Into 
his dull eyes came a fierce new light, and with a trium- 
phant scream he rose, soaring into the sky. 

How like the caged eagle is the spirit confined in the 
mortal body! The resemblance was seen in remote ages, 
and great races of mankind founded their religion thereon, 
and this early belief is the foundation of Christianity. The 
vexed problem of good and evil is solved thereby, for the 
spirit, primarily pure, is contaminated by its confinement 
in the cage of flesh and should feel like a conqueror when 
the hour comes which sets it free — free to go to its heavenly 
home. 

And this feeling comes at times to all. Perhaps it is a 
shadow cast by heredity, the lingering of the beliefs of our 
ancestors entertained for ten thousand generations. Our 
spirits are caged by environments, at least so it seems in 
our despondency, and like the eagle we cease to resist and 
tamely acquiesce in the misfortune of fate. 

Too often we cease when the restraint is all of our fancy 
and greater courage would brins^ us success. 

Confined the spirit may be, yet it need not wait the com- 
ing of pity to break its bars. It is a power unto itself and 
superior to its surroundings. It can gather power from 
adversity, grow strong by resisting the shafts of fate and 
rise triumphant from the most crushing bondage. Did a 



206 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

dungeon hold the spirit of Galileo ? Did not the hemlock 
free the spirit of Socrates? Did not the fagot's flames 
illuminate the spirit of Bruno ? In lesser spheres of action 
have not the spirits of countless men and women triumphed 
over pathways where their feet were bruised by flint and 
flesh torn by thorns ? And these repined not in their toil, 
nor excused dereliction of duty by opposing conditions, but 
did their best as they understood what their best should be. 
And while they toiled the bars of restraint vanished. 

We start out in life with high expectation, and bound- 
less ambition. We have determined on certain lines of 
effort, and if we succeed not in these we feel the limitations 
of the conditions which bind us as by opposing destiny. 
Yet may these failures, while showing us our weakness in 
one direction, call attention to our strength in others, and 
become the steps by which we escape the fetters of environ- 
ment. 

Our ancestors erred — all religions have erred in their 
views of the relation of the spirit and body. The latter 
may be a cage, limiting, holding, fettering, but it is a cage 
which is, as long as occupied, a part of the spirit. It is 
the earthly side, the means by which it comes in contact 
with the physical world, and more, it is the matrix by 
which it is evolved. 

When the body is stricken with disease, or worn out with 
age" it becomes a burden, and pitying Death breaks the cords 
which bind thereto the spirit. The body may die, broken 
into elementary atoms, but the spirit rises from its ruins, 
an individualization of the forces which gave it birth. 



THE SYLPH OF THE AIE. 

It was a season of drouth. The south wind was like a 
gust from a furnace, bearing broken leaves and thistle 
down with clouds of dust. Day after day it came with the 
rising sun, to fan with hot breath the dewless fields and, 
like a vampire, drink every drop of moisture from the 
cracked and flinty earth. 

Though it was yet summer, the forest grew brown, the 
corn rustled and the grassy carpet of the fields became a 
faded rug. The late violets drooped, the rose withered, the 
lily was unable to expand its bloom, and even the rough 
wild sunflower grew still more rough and russet. In the 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 207 

thickest shade the birds sought refuge, and their parched 
throats refused to swell with song even in the cool of the 
evening. 

Then the flowers with one voice said to the Air: "Oh, 
beautiful Sylph, give us rain. We are willing to perish 
when the legions of the Frost King come down from the 
North and pitch their white tents on mountain and plain, 
but let us not perish before our appointed time/^ 

The Sylph of the Air was as beautiful as a dream. Her 
forehead was as fair as a white cloud; her hair a sheen of 
gold; her eyes like the deep blue of a starry night; her 
form slender and elastic as a wreath of smoke. 

Her heart was touched by the appeal of the withering 
flowers. She spoke to them gently and kissed them with 
her soft lips, and her breath changed their sighs to fra- 
grance. "I will call the Cloud Giant," she said, "and his 
minions shall work for you." 

She stamped the earth with her delicate foot and cried : 
"Cloud Giant, arise !" 

Far beyond the trees in the west, slowly and with awful 
strength the Cloud Giant lifted up his wrinkled forehead. 
He shook wildly his massive locks in the wind, and with a 
hoarse voice called his thunder dogs and thousands and 
thousands of bucket bearers. He lifted up his gigantic 
form, obscuring the sun. While his legions poured out 
their burden he tossed the red lightning from hand to 
hand and laughed at the havoc below. 

Then he strode into the east, and over the gateway 
through which he passed was flung an arch of purest col- 
ors, as though painted by the emanations of the dying flow- 
ers. 

There, pausing on the horizon for hours, his black locks 
were seen and his hoarse laugh heard, and long into the 
night came faint flashes as he still played with the light- 
nings. 

The Giant passed in time to allow the sun to look for an 
hour on the earth before his departure. He looked out of 
the clouds of fleecy gold and carmine on a world hung with 
pearls and diamonds. The flowers stood erect, every petal 
expanded, and oh, how delicious the fragrance of the gentle 
west wind, which seemed like wine of the rarest vintage! 
The birds drank it and became intoxicated. They filled the 
wood and field with melody. Even the herds of cattle and 
the snowy sheep, far off on the hillside, were oyer Joyed, 



208 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

and with lowing and bleating gave thanks for the kindness 
of the Sylph of the Air. 

ALAS! 

The world is brightening up again, 

For the time of the year is spring, 
And I 'rouse myself from my dream of pain 

To hark while the dear birds sing. 
I have hated the sunshine these many weeks, 

Because of two sweet blue eyes, 
Locked down by a tyrant who never speaks, 

No matter who pleads or cries. 

O, longing to sing, I can scarcely talk. 

But sit as if smitten dumb. 
While black regrets, in their mourning stalk, 

And shadow the days to come. 
** Selfish and senseless?" Yes, I know, 

But what can a mortal do 
When a blow descends, be it swift or slow, 

Unnerving one through and through? 

I steal out into the sunshine bright. 

And look at the mapled street. 
To a pretty home, painted green and white, 

Which my own girl made complete. 
So homey and pleasant it ever was. 

With a welcoming air throughout. 
One could not define, but 'twas there, because 

My darling was thereabout! 

When I looked that way I could often see 

The flutter of scarf, or gown. 
And my mother-heart would beat out, ''Maybe 

My good girl is coming down ! ' ' 
And if she came, then I got my kiss 

And a confidential chat; 
She told me if anything went amiss. 

And if right I rejoiced at that. 

The precious small things that make up so much 

Of a loving woman's thought. 
And our two hearts were in closest touch, — 

Oh, the comfort and balm it brought! 
I thought she'd be living there after I, 

Her mother, had passed away; 
For every mother, you know, must die 

And make children a lonesome day. 

I cannot help feeling all out of place 

To be living when she is dead ; 
Younger, and eager to set her pace 

For the thousand things ahead. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 209 

I know that three children are motherless 

Playing about on the hill, 
And I know it is nobler to soothe and bless 

Than be mourning dumb and still. E. E. T. 

DON'T YOU KNOW? 

'Tis not wise, friends, to mourn when our kindred depart, 

For the time comes to all, don't you know; 
We are bound, it is true, by our love, heart to heart. 

But a soul never dies, don't you know. 

There are always some left one must help up the hill 
To life's uses, and blooms, don't you know; 

Ours must do for the hands which are stricken and still; — 
That is wise love, and true, don't you know. 

Oh, if wishes could rule fate how much would we change 
Of what looks so mis-wrought, don't you know; 

We imagine ourselves could far better arrange. 
But unread laws clash in, don't you know. 

To live on and be brave is the part most noblesse. 

It takes courage to live, don't you know; 
And the truer we stand in the times of great stress 

The diviner we are, don't you know. E. E. T. 

AN INVISIBLE FEIEND. 

Is there not an invisible friend here? 

I hope there may be! 
Speak low to my soul and speak true, dear; 

Dost thou yet love me? 
The shadows have gone from thine eyes, love; 

The pain is all past. 
In a palace of light in the skies, love, 

Thou dwellest at last. 

Maybe thou dost miss the old ways, love, 

Just once in a while, — 
And dream up in heaven of the days, love. 

We gave smile for smile. 
And maybe rich treasures thou'st gained, love, 

Thou fain wouldst impart. 
Enrich me with what thou bast learned, love, 

Ee fresh my faint heart! 

I wait, and I hope, — and feel sure, love, 

That thou art anear. 
As real, responsive, and pure, love. 

As though I saw clear. 
Thy thoughts float like dream-birds above me. 

They light on my head! 
I know thou art here, and dost love me ! 

0! Thou art not dead! E. E. T. 



210 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



WHEN THE LOVING MISTRESS DIES. 

Strange how many things will center 

In a loving woman's life, 
And how many hearts cast anchor 

Near a true, home-keeping wife. 
If consuming ills betide her, 

Taking her from life away. 
What a shifting and unchaining. 

All because she could not stay. 

First her husband's heart unsettles, 

All his hopes are cast adrift j 
Every plan is like a cobweb 

Which a breath may tear and lift. 
Sad reminders of her face him 

Every moment of each day; 
He can feel one ruling impulse: 

He must change, — must go away! 

So, not counting at the outset 

All the harrowing things to do, 
He decides to sell the home-lands 

And go into something new; 
Sever all the old connections 

With the house, the lands, the trees. 
Go to strangers, new employnaent. 

Fly from Sorrow's fierce disease. 

First the faithful horses face him ; — 

They were raised upon the farm. 
How she loved them and was watchful 

They should know not want nor harm. 
They, too, miss her, but they know not 

Of the silent mystery 
Which has locked her from their vision. 

And her loving ministry. 

He must sell them; how uncertain 

Is the life they then will lead. 
Will they miss the friendly master? 

Want for water? want for feed? 
And the sweet-breathed cows, so gentle. 

They must pass to other hands. 
All because one loving lady 

Died. ''Why?"— Oh, God understands! 

And the dog, so fond and faithful, 

Her companion and her guard; 
How he lay anear the casket. 

Which his stricken mistress barred, 
Waiting for her hand to feed him. 

She, who never once forgot; 
Since she sleeps so long and stilly 

He must leave the lonesome spot, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 211 

Silent sits her buff canary, 

Moping on its unwashed perch, 
It, too, misses its dead mistress, — 

Fain would pass its bars to search. 
Into other hands the birdling 

Must with tearful eyes be given; 
It will sing for list-ning strangers, 

Since its dear one sings in heaven. 

Kitty feels the great commotion, 

Shy she hunts outside the house, 
Since her table food is missing, 

For that stingy meal, a mouse! 
Soon the home will be deserted. 

Its belongings scattered wide! 
Things are changed so, and unsettled, 

Since the loving mistress died. 



E. B. T. 



LITTLE FOOL. 



You are living today in Heaven, 

Earth's yesterdays not long past; 
I wonder, sometimes, if you keep your pace. 

And your life goes wild and fast. 
You never were level of head, dear; 

You didn't seem built that way. 
Though you did know right from wrong sometimes, 

But you often went astray. 

Ah! you sweet little fool, we loved you. 

And love you the same today 
As when you were flesh-clad, here in our midst, 

Distracting us every way! 
We felt you would get through life early. 

For no one could "slow you up"; 
You held the opinion you knew so much. 

You could manage life's full cup. 

But, ah, little fool, you upset it! 

You wasted its contents sweet, 
And the Dresden china which held the draught 

Alas, lay spoiled at our feet. 
You'd toyed with the holiest feelings 

And did not know what they were; 
You thought, little fool, it was cunning to be 

A nettle, a thorn, a burr! 

And the great heart where you abode, dear, 

Who knew what you did not know, 
And knew that you never could understand. 

He smiled when you fed him woe!— 



212 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Was never unkind, nor resented, 

But took you for what you were: — 
And he tried to steady your wayward feet, 

But you ever would demur. 

At last when the end of it all came, 

And the last cute **turn" was done. 
You had had your way to the flowery close, 

The flirting, the tears, the fun; 
Then, poor little fool, we pitied you, 

And wished you had had more sense; — 
Enough to have known that the pace you went 

Was a bankrupting expense. 

You are living today in Heaven. 

Dear fool, were you leaning out 
Last evening to list to a wedding march? 

^ * Yes ? " ** What was it all about? ' ' 
The great heart you had so agonized, 

Little fool, when it held you dear, 
Has met with its peer, and the two are wed. 

You will pay your fool-tax there. 

E. E. T. 



AN" OBJECT LESSON IN BLACK. 

Two negroes confined for long terms in the Eastern Pen- 
itentiary, Pa., after retiring to their cell, which they jointly 
occupied, became engaged in religious dispute. They ar- 
gued till nearly morning, when one fell asleep and the 
other, remaining enraged, beat in his skull and cut off his 
head. When the overseer came in the morning bringing 
their breakfast he found that the murderer had wrapped 
the body of his victim in a blanket, tied the dissevered 
head in an old shirt and laid it on a small table. — Ex- 
change. 

Horrible! yes, but it is the time-honored way of set- 
tling religious questions. In fact, it is the only way, for 
they cannot be settled by reason. The more reasoning and 
argumentation from the data at hand, the deeper in the 
quagmire the contestants sink, and if there is reasoning 
with a gleam of the light of knowledge, the whole fog- 
bank disappears as mists clear with the rising sun. 

The negro was filled with the same "pious rage" that has 
made conspicuous for religious zeal, a countless host of 
kings, popes, priests and saints. There have been long 
ages, when to brain a heretic, or one who did not believe 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 213 

with the popular faith, was regarded as a deed acceptable 
to God. 

Constantine the Great, founder of Christianity, was so 
steeped in crime and blood that no priest of the splendid 
faith of the old pagan religion would absolve him, but a 
Christian father was ready to send his polluted soul to 
heaven ! 

The sword, the gibbet, the fagot's flame, have been ac- 
ceptable means of grace, and untold millions of the earth's 
best and bravest men have perished by the most cruel tor- 
tures, because they disagreed in belief from those in power. 
The same spirit lingers, confined, bound and fettered, it is 
true, by laws, but always recognizable. It is to be seen in 
all religious journals — the ugly tiger claws of theocratic 
despotism. To report falsehoods and slanderous defama- 
tion of those who do not agree with them in belief is a too 
common practice with the zealots of every religious creed. 

They invent "death-bed" scenes and 'Tiorrible examples," 
which, though proven false, they go on repeating un- 
abashed. They use the means at hand to rend and tear the 
heretic: social ostracism, defamation, sneers and public 
contumely. 

The negro murderer silenced his opponent. They may 
have disputed over the personality of the Holy Ghost, and 
the victim maintained that the said Ghost "proceeded from 
the Father," while the murderer had it that the "pro- 
cedure was from the Son," and that hence as proceeding 
through the Son, "as an eternal generation of an un- 
begotten paternity of the Father," the three as "self-pro- 
ceeding, and mutually begotten, were one and indistin- 
guishable." That is a question which the great minds of 
the church wrangled and fought over for ages and never 
settled. It would be a hard nut for two ignorant negroes 
to settle otherwise than to crack each other's skulls. The 
only way such divine revelations can be received is through 
cracked skulls. 

They could not settle the dogma any more than councils 
and popes before them, except in one way. It silenced 
dispute, and the most ignorant and brutal opponent was 
victorious. 

Horrible ! yes, and religious history, since man unfor- 
tunately had an incomprehensible religion to craze with the 
nightmare of the incomprehensible, has been a continuous 
horror. 



214 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



GOD. 

How many expeditions men have sent 

Toward the infinite to find their God 

And only found their own transcendent dreams! 

These have they deified, and worshiped them, 

And sacrificed according to their wealth 

Of mind and treasure. 

Savage, saint and sage 
Have built a dream-God, like unto themselves, 
And with their best conceptions trimmed him up 
Fit to be Kuler of the Universe. 

Man never yet has seen Him face to face, 
For He is hidden in a labyrinth 
Of His own laws, which He can never break, 
Nor set aside for any man's appeal. 



E. B. T. 



A MODEKN TKAGEDY. 

A can of nitro-glycerine was lying on the ground, 

A full-blown Christian Scientist was promenading 'round. 

* ' Look out ! " a little boy cried out, * * there 's something harmful 

there!" 
He did not heed, he did not hear, but kept his forward stare. 

With lungs inflated, head erect, he said, *'A11 things are mine! 
I am a part of God! All Good traces my life's design. 
Fearless am I! I dare to do whatever I desire, 
For I am life: I choose, I make, suggest, command, aspire." 

**I am peace, joy, prosperity, power, wisdom infinite; 

I am a soul! I can control matter with subtle might. 

A man is what he thinks ; I pulse with God 's almighty heart ! ' ' — 

That nitro-glycerine went off and blew him all apart. E. R. T. 



/ 



Progress is the evolution of inherent qualities. Its 
source is not external revelation. To understand such a 
revelation there must be answering faculties in the mind, 
else the revelation would be unintelligible; a revelation of 
morals to a totally depraved being would be in an unknown 
tongue, or as a book given to the blind. Man is organically 
moral, else he could not have moral ideas, and if he pos- 
sesses innate moral capacities he has no need of a revelation. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 215 



THE SUNBEAM'S TASK. 

The sunbeams are nimble folk, the most nimble-footed 
of all the messengers of Nature. What would you think 
if you wanted to go to a town fifty miles away and re- 
turn before breakfast? If you could harness a sunbeam, 
the moment you mounted it it would get you there, and 
before you could wink you would be home again. That 
would be a bicycle worth having. No new-fangled notion 
could get ahead of it. You could take breakfast at home, 
pass the day in Australia, and quietly eat supper at home 
again as though nothing had happened. You could go 
around the world so quickly that no one would miss you, 
for while they winked their eyes you would take the jour- 
ney. 

As the sunbeams are the most nimble, so they are the 
most energetic, and they sally forth, each on errands which 
they do just for the delight of doing. 

Oh, how they rush out from the sun, with dazzling rai- 
ment, armed and equipped for their tasks. 

"Let us go !" they cry at the gates of the sun. "Let us 
go, for our tasks are many and our duties are urgent." 

They rush through the frosty ether where no ray stops, 
because there is nothing to stop for, and each is fearful of 
being left behind. In the dewey morning, when the sun 
is over the hills and the red mist parts, they come in such 
host. They fall into the dewdrops, and struggling, half 
drowned, convert every one into a blazing diamond. 

Then thirstily they drink them up and rise it soft vapor 
and shimmering clouds. 

It was April and they sought out the flowers, which had 
just shaken the snows from their ascending leaves and 
spread their pale petals in the softening air. Over the blos- 
soms the sunbeams bent gracefully, and with colors gath- 
ered from the rainbow, they tinted the petals of the ane- 
mone and the clatonia, flecked the corola of the adder- 
tongue, splashed crimson on the bleeding heart, and to the 
violet gave exquisite tinting. Every bud of every tree in 
the vast forest was visited — every blade of grass on hillside 
and vale, and the brown landscape blushed with vivid 
green. 

That was only the beginning of the day. The sun- 
beams glanced on the surface of the river, converting it to 



216 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

silver. ''Come up, beauteous one/' they cried, "up from 
the ooze and slime, for we would see you again." Then 
the broad leaves of the water lily expanded like glossy 
shields, and a sweet voice was heard calling: "Not even 
for you, dear sunbeams, can I come before my time.'' 

"True," said they as they hastened on. "We will re- 
turn when that time comes, and paint you like ivory wax, 
and perfume you with the mingled fragrance of- all flow- 
ers." 

Then they sprang on the crags of the mountain, and 
were met by the plaint of a giant pine. "See," it cried, 
"how this root of mine goes down into the crevice of the 
rocks, into their very heart, that I may drink at the deep 
springs. See how this ugly rock presses the life out of me 
by refusing to yield." 

"Then," replied the sunbeam, "I will give you strength," 
and he struck the root with his Javelin, and, with the en- 
ergy of a giant, it expanded, and the great rock heaved 
and parted and, jostling over, rolled down the mountain 
side. Every leaf of the pine murmured applause, but the 
tree, although thankful, had other grievances. Deeper yet, 
where, as one would say, its toes penetrated, there was yet 
uglier pinching, now felt the more because the other was 
relieved. 

"To-day you must rest content," said the sunbeam. "If 
I pierce into those deep recesses, the very mountain will 
crumble, and, losing your hold, you will be plunged down 
into the gulf below." 

Yet was the pine discontented because of the very thing 
that securely held it in place, and were its after history 
known, no doubt its desires were granted by some less 
wise sunbeam, and it met this wretched fate. 

Then they visited the squalid lanes of the city, and they 
well knew what was wanted of them. They peeped into 
the closed room, where the pale invalid lay in the shadow 
of curtains and the air was laden with poison. "Let us 
in!" they shouted, and the watcher cautiously drew the 
curtains and raised the sash, and the host rushed in, and 
changed the poisoned air to sweetness, and playfully dashed 
carmine and bronze on the face of the sufferer. 

Mighty physicians are the sunbeams. No doctor ever 
had such success as they, and as for disinfectants, germi- 
cides and toxins, why, bless you, a prick from a sunbeam 
will kill the fiercest bacillus, and disease germs have no 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 217 

more chance of escape than a hare would from a gatling 
gun. They are better than all the anti-toxins ever brewed, 
for instead of putting poison into the blood, they take it 
out. They cleanse the air, and the sewage of a pestilent 
city where it runs out into the sunlight, is purified. 

The sunbeams went in and the invalid arose. They 
laughed with surprise, for they had thought her old and 
ugly, and she became transformed into a beautiful girl. 
Like to her was a heliotrope in a vase on the window — 
pale and odorless. They stopped for a moment to refresh 
it and touch its petals with color. Then they left the town 
for the wide fields of the country, and, finding a group of 
children on their way to school, they made the air around 
them so pure that their appetites sharpened, and every one 
of the crowd wished it were noon, that they might open 
their luncheon baskets. How brown they were! How 
clear their eyes ! What a ring of delightful health in their 
voices ! 

"We did it," cried the mighty chorus of sunbeams. "The 
work is ours. We gave them pure water; we purified the 
air they breathe ; we make the whole world for them a glit- 
tering palace of beauty. Our Lord is the son, and he is the 
great fountain of life." 

AT MOUNT VERNON. 
Lovingly inscribed to Louise Lynde Bacon. 

The grounds of fair Mount Vernon 

Seem good to walk upon; — 
Acres which were the homelands 

Of noble Washington. 
The beautiful Potomac 

Has mirrored faces strong, 
Which seem to haunt the mansion, 

And to the New-Time throng. 

They whisper in the foliage 

Along the river's edge; 
They glide among the box leaves 

Which make the vernal hedge; 
They loiter in the garden 

Where pinks and roses grow; 
They wander through the buildings 

So stately and so slow. 

People of noble purpose, 

Who labored heart to heart, 
To make this ungrown country 

The world's divinest part. 



218 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

They were not seeking riches, — 
They knew no sordid aim, 

But wrought to make a nation 
Justice might proudly claim. 

We hail them and we heed them; 

Their majesty we feel, — 
Those residents of heaven, 

The country of the Leal. 
Earth-bound are they no longer, 

But love their country's good. 
And come to guard its honor, 

And make right understood. 

We think of loving Martha, 

Who chose the attic room 
Because its little windows 

O'erlooked his sacred tomb. 
We see her unimprisoned, 

Not waiting Gabriel's horn 
To wake her, and her consort, 

On resurrection morn. 

The most attractive features 

About Mount Vernon are 
The unseen fascinations 

Which chain one everywhere. 
One feels the aspirations 

Its noble dwellers felt. 
And wrote in emanations 

On walls wherein they dwelt. 

Our reverent souls are viewing. 

While walking here about, 
Glimpses of the departed 

Men have not written out. 
When strolling o'er Mount Vernon 

A charm is felt, unseen; 
We read unpublished chapters 

In lives aye evergreen. 



HOW TO EEST. 



E. R. T. 



We all know how tiresome people are who do not know 
how to rest, nor to let others rest in their presence. 

A child, even a dog, or a cat, which is constantly utter- 
ing sounds, and is never still, will weary one in a few hours 
almost past endurance. They are constantly diverting 
one's attention from consecutive thought, causing blunders 
in whatever business is claiming present attention. They 
excite one's S3rmpathy, too, from the fact that they are 



4 GOLDEN SHEAF 219 

breaking down the tissues of their bodies without getting 
any good out of it, and really wasting strength which ought 
to be conserved. 

We have heard women say with pride, "I never sit still ! 
I am always doing something!" When they sit down to 
rest their feet and limbs, they take up sewing, tatting, knit- 
ting or embroidery, and while the feet rest, hands work. 
The mind is never free. If you want to age rapidly that 
is a sure receipt to follow, but it is not the way to keep 
young, or please husband and children. They do so like to 
know, sometimes, there is nothing to do but to "think of 
them." Maybe they are selfish, but it is an excusable self- 
ishness, for it is a mutual benefit and a sweet pastime. 

I am acquainted with a woman who is a great worker and 
who prides herself on never "losing a minute." If you call 
on her she will at once proceed to tell you what she has 
done that day and the day before and what she intends to 
do tomorrow; how lame she is, and how her head aches, 
and her feet swell, etc., until you mentally exclaim, "Why 
don^t you give yourself a rest, my dear?" and you are so 
sorry that it would be impolite for you to tell her it is a 
duty she owes to herself and to her friends. 

She is sinning against herself, besides people cannot be 
agreeable who are so depleted, pre-occupied, devitalized, be- 
cause they "make one tired;" you, my kind readers, are 
philosophical enough to explain this without my aid. 

It is economy to rest ; to pause in the rush of this wild, 
mad world to take breath and gain strength. It is more- 
over safe, if we do not desire that our names be added 
to the long list of loving, but martyred mothers. 

Sitting down in a chair and worrying, or trotting the 
feet, or rocking violently, or talking incessantly, is not 
resting. To rest is to relax the system from all intensity, 
giving mind and muscles entire relaxation. 

You have heard much, perhaps know much, about Fran- 
cois Delsarte's system of physical culture. His series of 
Decomposing Exercises are in no way more useful than 
in teaching people how to rest. They teach the art of 
entire relaxation, and I know one lady who has cured her- 
self of showing a violent temper by practicing them. When 
she feels her temper rising from any cause, even from 
tongue lashing which she does not deserve, she at once 
"decomposes" herself — her body becomes limp — and how 
can an inanimate instrument display a hot temper? See? 



^30 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

But when applied to taking rest they are just what we all 
need and can make practical. This is the formula : 

"When a few moments of leisure can be taken, throw 
yourself down upon a bed or the floor (an ordinary couch 
is not wide enough) and let all the limbs drop as lifeless 
as possible. Then put your attention upon one arm and try 
to imagine that it is disconnected at the shoulder and is no 
part of your body. Think of all four limbs in the same 
manner and also try to think that they are very heavy. 
Close your eyes softly (do not hold them tightly together) 
and allow the lower jaw to drop. As you lie there, be 
careful that your thoughts do not lead you to tightening up 
any muscle. 

"A friend can take hold of your limbs and ^prove' them 
—that is, see that they are relaxed. When perfectly sur- 
rendered they will be ^imp as a rag,' to use a common ex- 
pression. Instead of resting in their chairs and on their 
beds, people are ^holding themselves on,' as one writer ex- 
pressed it. These ideas of surrender, in order to rest the 
body and furnish free avenues for correct expression, which 
Francois Delsarte gave to us in his practical teachings, are 
like a new gospel, and American men and women surely 
and sorely stand in need of their redeeming power." 

E. K. T. 

A MAN IN THE KITCHEN. 
Puring the Woman 's Crusade. 

Hello, Jones! Come in for a minute, 

And help me along if you can. 
My wife's at the temperance crusading, 

And I'm an unfortunate man. 
They are storming that rum shop of Bilkins'; 

No doubt he will hang out a week; 
And then there is Guzzler to tackle, 

And elephant-hided McSqueak. 

The emptings are all running over, — 

The dishes are piled in the sink; 
The three-year-old twins are up tooting, 

And baby squalls so I can't think. 
Kit slipped out and wet both her stockings; 

I can't find a pair for her feet. 
The last crumb of victuals is -eaten, 

And John bawls for something to eat. 

It is ten o'clock now; gingeration! — 
And everything up in a stir. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 221 

The sweeping, the dishes, the dinner! — 

And six of them coming with her! 
Now, Jones, if you've any compassion 

Just "pitch in" and knead out the bread, 
While I fix the squash and potatoes 

Before I'm tetotally dead. 

My wife said she wanted the tea made 

So strong it would steady her up 
As long as the Bilkins siege lasted; — 

Two teaspoons at least to a cup. 
I'll season the dishes with pepper. 

And ginger, whatever I can. 
For such a crusade on the rumshops 

"Would be heavy work for a man! 

Six boxes of troches a day, sir, 

I've bought since the praying began 
To strengthen her voice, for her aim is 

To stand in the work No. 1. 
She'll not be outdone if assistance 

By tonics will help her at all. 
Jones! catch it! there tumbles the baby! 

Bumped senseless! the camphor! — bawl! bawl! 

I 'm temperance, — strictly, but * dang it ! " 

Must mortals wake God by a call. 
And put Him on line of His duty? 

The dinner! — All six in the hall! 

— E. E. T. 



A GOLDEN CHAIN EECITATIOK 

FOR BANDS OF MERCY. 

[The President, or some one chosen, should read or put 
the questions, and the Band respond by reading or reciting 
the answers. Eead well; bring out the ideas. This exer- 
cise is fine to follow the opening music for an Angell Prize 
Contest Entertainment, before the contestants begin. Have 
the entire Band, bearing a banner, march to music upon 
the stage, under orders, and when in proper position re- 
spond to the reader of the questions, who should be back 
in the audience.] 

Q. Who are you, little Band, wearing stars ? 

A. We are "Band of Mercy" Defenders. 

Q. Whom do you defend, and what is your aim? 

A. We try to be kind to all harmless creatures and try 
to protect them from cruel usage. 



222 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Q. Whence come you, and whither are you going ? 

A. From Life's sunny fountains to Love's golden moun- 
tains. 

Q. Do you love mercy ? 

A. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
mercy." 

Q. Do you speak for those who cannot speak for them- 
selves ? 

A. The Bible says, "Open thy mouth for the dumb.'' 
We plead for the helpless. 

Q. How do you know when they suffer ? 

A. We try to put ourselves in their places. We use the 
golden key of sympathy. 

Q. AVhy do you try to prevent cruelty? 

A. Because cruelty leads to crime, and crime makes 
misery. 

Q. What should you live for ? 

A. To bless the world. To make all lives happy lives. 

Q. How can you do this grand work ? 

A. "Love is the fulfilling of the law. The Lord de- 
lighteth in mercy." E. R. T. 



SOCIETY WOEK. 

Societies are aggregations of individuals. 

Human nature is yet too productive of a flush growth 
of selfishness. 

The leading question in almost all ventures is, ^^What 
is there in it for ME ?" 

This is asked in the hearts of the individual components 
of societies. 

It is asked by those who aspire to act as pastors, lec- 
turers, mediums, teachers, leaders of the brains of organi- 
zations. 

And it will be asked as long as the road to success is 
placarded all the way with the motto, "Eoot, hog, or die." 

It is not my ideal. I wish things were different. 

I wish people were more far-seeing — could look beyond 
their own noses, and would take broader views. 

I wish they were willing to do some sowing for others 
to reap. 

But we must take humans as we find them. They are 
bound to look out for themselves and so they will eisi. the 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 223 

selfish question concerning societary work, "What is there 
in it for ME?" 

What answer can be given? 

"There are bills to pay?" Yes, always bills to meet. 

"Guard duty to perform?" Yes, a straight backbone 
and bang-back gun you must have. 

"And the word 'Welcome' over the front door?" 

Yes. Hungry souls must be lunched free, and bodies, 
too. 

"Will I have to help oil the machinery?" 

Yes, lubricating oil you must keep in stock and apply 
freely. 

"Stand firm and stand fast on all occasions; hold office 
or not, as the majority decide ?" 

Yes, do your whole duty on all occasions, willingly. 

^'Well, I understand what I am to do, but what is there 
in return for my efforts? Will it pay?" 

You will have a place for your family to go on Sundays ; 
a set to affiliate with; you will be located mentally and 
socially, and you will be harnessed to pull! It will be 
easier if you pull with the members than if you have a tug 
by yourself. 

"But will it be a proper place for Madam ? She is very 
careful what influences touch the family." 

We must see to it that it is a proper place and that our 
speakers are persons of intelligence, culture and morality. 
I know many who aspire to be lecturers are wofully de- 
ficient in moral acumen. I have seen many things I know 
to be morally unhealthy and, I doubt not, to which the 
guardian of the home would object. I know one — (more 
than one) — pretty, middle-aged lady speaker who makes 
a business of "mashing," or helping them to a mash, silly 
old men, who have money. When reproved for it by her 
husband, she says, sweetly : "Why, dear, it is a part of my 
business; it helps me to get engagements to lecture, and 
money for private sittings." 

I know, too, some veteran lecturers who get camp engage- 
ments, etc., by winking at and excusing the moral lapses 
of susceptible managers. But such characters, who love 
notoriety and money more than purity and justice, we shall 
not employ. There will not be pestilence in the society 
for men or women. 

"And what for the children?" 

A Progressive Lyceum for the children! One of the 



224 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

most complete and recreative Sunday schools this side of 
heaven. It provides for the growth and education of the 
entire individual. It is sparkling with truth, merry with 
music, lively with marching, graceful with calisthenics, 
and full of warmth and color. There is wealth in it for 
the children — wealth of opportunities. Patriotism, frater- 
nity, kindness to every living creature, human or sub- 
human; self-respect, fidelity, tolerance, independence are 
taught and emphasized as qualifications for good citizen- 
ship and good home-makers. The children will get good 
returns, and the adults, too, who work with them. Every 
society should have a lyceum, whether it has regular speak- 
ers or not. 

"Well, well ; that is a big thing ! I guess there is some- 
thing in it!'' 

Now if we provide our society with an attractive and 
respectable place to hold meetings, have good music, and 
lecturers who can command respect, are worthy of confi- 
dence, as well outside of a spiritual society as in it, and 
who really have something to say and know how to say it 
well, I think you will feel that there really is something 
worth a great deal to you in societary co-operation. It is 
because too narrow motives actuate, and too stingy pro- 
visions are made to give satisfaction all around, that so- 
cieties die. They do not send out roots into the schools, 
churches, various clubs, everywhere to gain strength and 
allies. They want to be be-alls and do-alls. They or- 
ganize to fight, instead of to educate and enlarge. If they 
are to give an entertainment they want all Spiritualists, 
and no others in it. They bristle and stand off those who 
might be won, and would carry progressive ideas into new 
places. 

To conduct societies so they will live, and not be counted 
among the early dead, requires a great deal of good com- 
mon sense, unusual tact, inventive talent to devise fresh 
methods for work which will engage all, and managers who 
have due regard for the conventional usages of good society 
and dignified deportment. Free-and-easy innovations on 
customs founded on good sense should not be encouraged. 

E. E. T. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 225 



PEACE ON EAETH. 



As I sit in the quiet of my home this stormy night and 
listen to the howling winds, sighing around the eaves and 
soughing away across the snow-clad fields away, away over 
the tossing branches of the frozen trees, there comes to 
my soul a great wave, as though borne by the bitter winds 
from all the earth, of woe and pain ; of grief and despair ; 
of struggling against fate ; thirst and hunger. Two thou- 
sand years since the angels sang in the bright heavens of 
Palestine, "Peace on earth and good will to men/' Twenty 
centuries of effort to make practical the divine gospel of 
love, and still selfishness is triumphant and owns the 
earth ! Still in a world of plenty, with plethoric harvests 
that burst the granaries, and rot in the field, there is gaunt 
famine, and millions go to their hard beds tonight hungry 
for a crust. Little children know not what it is to have 
enough, and while warehouses are packed high with moul- 
dering garments, their forlorn rags scarce conceal their 
emaciated bodies. I see them shivering over the bits of 
coal gathered from garbage heaps, crowded together to 
give each other warmth. 

Then comes, with another gust, the sorrows of grief, the 
loss of friends, the aching heart that suffers until be- 
numbed by pain, and mechanically gathers itself up to go 
on, leaving hope and joy behind. 

There are tonight ten thousand times ten thousand such, 
and there is no balm ! 

There are endless processions marching on of those who 
have failed and lost their places in the line. Incompe- 
tency; rascality of those trusted in affairs; the incalcu- 
lable interference of the elements; a thousand causes, 
avoidable or beyond human control, have brought disaster, 
and ambition once starward has sank into the dull effort to 
exist. The laborer once proprietor of himself looks over 
his scanty table, and would feel shame comparing it with 
other days had not merciful fate calloused his feelings. His 
cabin is in the shadow of palaces where the sons and daugh- 
ters of wealth waste in riot in a single night the earnings 
of his hands for his longest lifetime. 

From afar there is reflected a starving people, millions 
and millions stricken by pestilence, and given over to the 
merciless hands of Winter; and beyond them on the bor- 



226 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

ders of the Arctic sea the exiles of Siberia, nobly born and 
reared, to suffer daily death and show how much agony the 
human soul can bear. 

The penal colonies, the prison-cells, the reeking cages 
for confinement of human beings, from these come sobs of 
contrite grief, groans of despair and the snarl of enven- 
omed rage. From thousands of souls in our own bright 
land, shut behind prison walls, come these mingling notes. 
Punishment, just in the sight of law and the ethics of 
Christianity, but who can help pitying? Who with heart 
help sympathizing with these poor, dwarfed and blighted 
results of social conditions? To punish! Justice inflicts 
not punishment, except for reformation ; not to avenge, but 
reform. Oh, divine love ! where art thou when these are 
driven to their cells, with cropped locks and harlequin 
clothing, that they may feel the bitterness of infamy and 
disgrace, and be branded with the mark of Cain — branded 
so deeply that even after the punishment has been inflicted 
the finger of scorn is constantly pointed and the sneer of 
mankind follows them to the grave ! 

It is Christmas tide, and there should flow around us an 
ocean of love. There should not only be glad hearts, but all 
hearts should be glad. Will it be so in some millennial age ? 

But now there comes before me a vast army, legion on 
legion flowing away into the clouds of the distance; the 
wretched, the despairing, the hungry, and the destitute; 
the vagabond, and the criminal; the broken-hearted; the 
hopeless, the sorrowing ; oh, what a host swept by the bliz- 
zard wind! 

The sensitive soul, like a headland jutting into the sea, 
receives the shock of waves from distant coasts, and the 
set of currents from unseen and unknown forces. It can 
find no peace for itself until peace reigns over the entire 
world. It cannot close its doors and retire within itself, 
for the stress of suffering cannot be shut out. Like the 
headland, it must receive and bear the shock. 

Is it Christmas tide? Is the day the old day when we 
gathered our children around us, and the joy at the pres- 
ents given and received was like the breath of Eden? 

They have Christmas trees of their own now on farther 
shores, and the sigh of the Winter wind replaces their 
laughter. The old time will return never more. 

Is it Christmas tide ? Were I the Infinite Power, at least 
for this one time there should not be one soul cold or 



A GOLDEN SHEAF %n 

hungry, grieving or despairing. Once in all the wide world 
should it be true that peace on earth and good will to man 
had come. 

TO OUE DEAE FEANK. 
(Our son-in-law, Frank L. Yeranee.) 

Dear Frank in Hearen! Your thoughts will turn 

This Christmas-tide to us, who fain 
Would clasp your angel hands in love 

And know that you are ''home again." 

Yes, home again, Frank, home again! 

Home from the land of souls above, 
To mingle with your kindred, left 

With lonesome hearts, — abloom with love. 

Only one year ago this time 

Your head was planning gifts for us; — 
So many, — and so nice! — we thought, 

''Dear Frank! — next year will it be thus?" 

For Death was looking in your face, 

And hinting of this absence then. 
We prayed that he might turn away, 

And Life bestow her best again. 

Alas! it was not so to be; 

Your noon hour struck, ' ' Eternity ! ' ' 
This year is dearth of merriness, — 
Our Christmas bells ring mournfully. 
Christmas, 1902. jj jj rp 



THE PAST. 



Torget the past?" Oh, no; we are the product of the 
past, and a part of it. We may be a part of the future when 
it comes, as we shall be if our lives reach into it, but we are 
now a portion of the world's past, and should be able to 
see and remember much to love and enjoy, as well as some 
things to deplore and improve upon. 

We should have philosophy and strength enough to do 
both, conscious that the struggle of the ages is to attain 
moral brotherhood, and that every one who comes from 
the past into the future must try understandingly to take 
part in it. Forget the past ? No, remember and improve 
upon it. Enjoy its glories, but do not help to repeat its 
failures. E. R. T. 



228 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



THE GUAEDIAN ANGEL. 

Of all the imposing objects furnished by art, perhaps 
none are comparable with the ocean steamship. The ocean, 
itself a grand unwritten epic, every line of which is of 
beauty, and whose waves are the poetry of motion, is com- 
plimented with the ship, so like it in its lines of grace and 
strength, and energy seemingly borrowed from the element 
on which it floats. 

With what throbbing hearts we wave our last farewell to 
those who stand on her deck, and hear the command to cast 
off the last line that binds her to our shore. Then with 
what conscious strength she swings out on the tide, her 
prow turned dauntlessly oceanward for the other side of 
the world, black volumes of smoke wreathing over her, 
and a shining path behind like a bank of snowy daisies on 
the emerald pastures of the sea. 

We wistfully gaze after her retreating form, bearing 
away our treasures of love, until a cloud of smoke is all that 
breaks the monotonous water line, and that soon is gone. 
Then in loneliness we go our way. 

Of the steamships sailing from Liverpool none were 
superior to the Adriatic in strength or beauty. A favorite 
ship was she, and on that May morning when she left her 
dock, of the hundreds who shook the friendly hand, or 
gave the more intimate kiss of love, all congratulated them- 
selves and each other on the felicity of the voyage to New 
York. 

When the passengers had somewhat recovered from sea 
sickness, and were gathered on deck or in the cabin in social 
parties, the ocean extended like a gently undulating mirror 
and a most lovely summer sky bended overhead. The 
weather was delightful, the captain rejoicing, and the pas- 
sengers in the best of humor. 

Among the latter was a lady and a little girl. The lady 
was sweetly beautiful and attractive in her manners and 
soon became endeared to all. She was a pure blonde, with 
the blue eyes and light golden hair of Germany. Her 
daughter Mabelle was the image of her mother, with the 
same clear blue eyes, golden hair and soft complexion. 

She was playing on deck one afternoon, when an elderly 
gentleman with whom she had formed an intimate friend- 
ship attracted her attention. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 229 

"Oh! when," she exclaimed, "shall we arrive at New 
York. I am dying to see grandpa." 

"You look as much like dying as a rosebud," said the 
gentleman, laughing, "and if you will call me grandpa, 
you will not need to go to New York." 

"That would not do," she replied, seriously; "we have 
not seen grandpa in five years. I was only two years old 
when he left England. Grandpa had a great misfortune ; 
that is, he lost all his fortune. He went to New York to get 
that fortune again." 

"Yes, I dare say, and he will be pleased to see you, little 
wise woman." 

"He has a nice house now, mamma says, and he will be 
glad, I know, when he meets us." 

"Then your grandpa has been prosperous ?" 
"Of course he has. He always does well. He has a fine 
house, as I said, and servants and coaches, just as he used 
to have in dear old England, and he wanted mamma to 
come and take care of them for him, for grandma went to 
spirit life a year ago and he is lonesome." 

"Ah, ha! now I see how it is: your father is also in 
spirit life?" 

"No, no; he is still in England, attending to grandma's 
business. In three months he will join us, and then, all 
together, in grandpa's great house, we shall have a happy 
time." 

"Undoubtedly you will, and because I have no little 
granddaughter you must tell him that I envy him his hap- 
piness." 

The sun went down into the ocean, sharp and clear — a 
most charming sight for the voyagers— and, like the fleecy 
folds of a garment, the scattered clouds gathered around 
the portal through which he passed. The moon rose in the 
east like a queenly sultana on a throne of silver, and her 
light broke in myriad reflections on the crested waves. 
With her mother, Mabelle sat on the deck, enjoying the 
strangely fascinating scene. 

"What are the stars ?" she asked, interrupting the silence. 
"They are suns, my child, like our own, but so far away 
they appear small." 

"No, no ; they are not. The moon is their mother, and 
they are her children." 

"Who told you that pretty tale?" 

"No one ; I always knew it. The sun is an ugly old giajit 



230 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

who every morning makes a breakfast of the moon's chil- 
dren, and that is why there are no stars in the day time/' 

"Your prattle might be less sensible, but my mood is 
serious. I am oppressed by a feeling of danger. I should 
not tell you, yet I would press you close to my breast. If 
anything should happen, my precious Mabelle, and we 
should be separated, remember all I have said to you." 

Overcome by her feelings, she folded her child in her 
arms and wept. Mabelle was alarmed by her mother's 
tears and began to sob. Thus recalled, the mother said : 

"I should not alarm you. Perhaps nothing will happen. 
I am nervous from sea sickness. Let me place this locket 
on your neck. It contains your father's and mother's 
miniatures. And now we will forget our unpleasant 
thoughts and you may call the stars children of the moon, 
lamps along the streets of heaven, or little lambs pasturing 
in the meadows of the sky, as you please." 

The passengers sought their berths, and at midnight 
all was still except the measured throbbing of the engine, 
the tramp of the watch, and the splashing unrest of the 
waves. Tireless and unswerving as destiny the ship kept 
on her course through the night, watched by the stars. 
That day those that were skilled in the art had computed 
to a second the exact place of the ship on the ocean, and 
the sleepless eyes that watched the quivering compass di- 
rected her course by the knowledge thus afforded. They 
knew that the Grand Banks of Newfoundland were to the 
north, and the dense fogs of the gulf stream were the only 
danger. 

The morning came, and for a time the sun shone clear 
and warm, though the horizon was hazy. About ten o'clock a 
white cloud, or rather wall, rose out of the water. The ship 
plunged into it and became enveloped in the thick and 
blinding mist. One could discern objects only at a few 
yards distinctly. The engines slackened speed, and the 
foghorn, deep and mournful, sounded, and was echoed from 
the enveloping cloud. They feared meeting another ship, 
and the watch listened attentively to every sound. 

It was noon, and the fog seemed constantly thickening. 
The officers consulted, for well they knew that it might 
conceal icebergs — mountain masses broken from Arctic 
cliffs and drifted by currents southward. There was safety 
only in going ahead and running out of the fog. The 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 231 

engines, as though instinctively warned of danger, worked 
slowly and carefully, with deepened breath. Now and then 
came puffs of frosty air with the chill dampness. The 
watch on the bow strained their eyes in vain endeavor to 
pierce the cloud. They did not fear concussion with ships, 
for the fog-horn warned them away, but the dread iceberg 
would not turn aside and gave no warning. Hour by 
hour, as they sailed on, their apprehensions grew less, and 
the sailors began to jest at each other for their idle fears. 
The fog would be passed by night, and a star-lit evening 
was predicted. 

Suddenly they were startled by a fearful cry from the 
watch, too horrified for articulation. It was a shriek of 
despair. Out of the mist came the murmur of a low surf, 
and while the watch listened, scarcely realizing what it was, 
out of the gloom, cold, glittering, phantom-like, projected 
a precipice of ice not ten fathoms away, coming with the 
soft, undistinguishable tread of the tiger, yet unyielding as 
adamant. To cry out was mortal, though to avert the 
danger was beyond mortal power. The pilot's hand in- 
stinctively touched the bell, the engines were reversed, but 
too late, for the ship and the ice mountain came together 
with a crash, and, quivering in every beam and plank, the 
former careened on her side, righted, and, obedient now to 
her engines, backed away from the foe. The passengers 
swarmed on deck, terrified beyond expression and ignorant 
of the danger, the extent of which no one knew. It was 
quickly seen, however, for the water rushed through the 
broken bow so rapidly that it was certain the ship could 
not float an hour. The boats were made ready by the sail- 
ors, who, with their officers, at this trying moment were as 
calm and obedient as on a quiet sea far from danger. 

The gentleman who had taken such interest in Mabelle 
grasped her and her mother by the hand, and hurried them 
to one of the boats. He placed Mabelle in one of them, 
when the imperative order came to cut away, as it already 
had more passengers than safety would allow. The crew 
stood to their oars, and in a moment were lost in the fog. 
One other boat was launched, and then there were difficul- 
ties in getting the others ready. The stopping of the engine 
was not noticed. At this most critical time the giant failed. 
The concussion broke some bolt or stay, and its strength 
was gone. 

The ship paused, and with the pause again out of the 



232 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

cloud rose the spectral mountain, moving irresistibly upon 
the defenseless ship. She presented this time, not her 
strong prow, but her yielding side, and receiving the full 
force of the blow, arose, and, with the wild wail of despair 
echoed over the waste, came a sullen plunge, and the Adri- 
atic breasted the waves no more. Numberless arms were 
tossed above the sparkling surface, and some stout swim- 
mers gave not up without a struggle. They reached the icy 
wall, and, with desperate endeavor, clutched the smooth 
surface which gave no hold, no ledge for rest, but over- 
hanging, smoothly perpendicular, the tantalization of hope 
aggravated the despair of death. One by one these brave 
men, as their strength failed them, sank into the abyss. 
The ice mountain plowed on its way, and the ocean gave no 
trace of the lost ship or her precious freight. 

Of the two boats one was never heard from. It was un- 
doubtedly lost in the storm which arose before it was pos- 
sible for it to have reached the shore. That storm long will 
the fishermen of the New England coast remember. Those 
who fished for cod on the banks, or for the rainbow-tinted 
mackerel far off the coast, if they did not take warning and 
secure a harbor, were indeed fortunate if they escaped to 
tell the tale of their perils. 

The boat in which Mabelle was placed was a lifeboat of 
the best pattern, and although the waves broke completely 
over it, it continued to float, and while the crew could 
maintain their strength all were safe. In the gray light 
of the morning they saw a coast before them and a long 
line of breakers. There was a little fishing village, and to 
the south the coast swept in a beautiful curve, formed by a 
low ledge or wall of rocks. The water was deep to the very 
shore. In one place the ledge was broken and the waves 
went over and laved a sandy beach. This was noticed by 
the mate who steered the boat, and he thought he could 
take advantage of this gap and be driven directly on the 
beach without harm. 

It was a desperate venture, but there was no alternative. 
The storm was unabated ; their strength was failing. They 
approached the shore, and, at the command, bent to their 
oars, alas! with insufficient strength. The set of the cur- 
rent bore them to one side, and the boat struck the rocks. 
Mabelle and some others were thrown instantly overboard 
by the shock, and, caught by the next wave, were carried 
high up where they had designed to land the boat, and left 



:^ GOLDEN SHEAF 233 

among the sea weed which strewed the beach. The others, 
with the boat, were drawn back into the hell of waters and 
dashed again on the cruel rocks. A group of fishermen 
quickly gathered. 

Rough but kind hands raised the apparently lifeless 
Mabelle and gave her in charge of an old woman who was 
noted for her motherly kindness. She, poor dame, had lost 
her father when a child, her husband and her son, all in 
the storms of the remorseless ocean. Thus schooled by 
bitter suffering, she was sympathetic with others in their 
grief, and the many widows and orphans of the villao-e 
always found her a tender and true friend. ° 

Mabelle, when restored to health, was confused in mem- 
ory. The terrors of that hour and the suffering in the 
boat nearly obscured her past. She only remembered her 

name, and with her mother she was to meet her grandpa 

somewhere. 

Mabelle's mother had become a spirit, but her love and 
affection were the same, and with a holy devotion she could 
not enjoy the delights of the angel spheres until she knew 
the fate of her loved child. Through the assistance of 
others she discovered the abode of Mabelle, and often came 
to her. The sensitive child felt her presence and wept. 
Then her mother would throw around her a gentle influ- 
ence which would make her very happy. 

The spirit mother sought her husband, and endeavored 
to impress him with her presence. Her opportunity came 
m sleep— the negative side of life and twin brother of 
death. He dreamed that he saw his daughter on an ocean 
coast. A fishing village was there, with the shore to the 
south, sweeping in a beautiful curve. She stood on the 
rocks, extending her arms over the sea, and called to him. 
He awoke greatly agitated, but recovering himself, he again 
fell asleep, and had the same dream. This time her mother 
stood by her side, dim, shadowy, and cloudlike. He awoke 
still more agitated, and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, 
the next day secured passage to New York. From there he 
went to Boston and northward along the coast, constantly 
inquiring for the nameless village with its sweeping coast 
until the fishermen thought him insane. At last he came 
to the object of his search. He recognized at once the 
reality of his dream. The village was there, the coast, and 
on a ledge of rocks, gazing over the sea, was a little girl 
whom he knew to be his daughter. Oh, what a delight! 



334 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Perhaps her mother was also safe! He ran to her and 
clasped her in his arms. The locket fell from her bosom. 
He had placed it on the neck of his own Mabelle, with the 
promise it should never be removed. It spoke, and he knew 
that she was dead. Dead, but living present with them; 
ecstatically happy over the union her gentle influence had 
accomplished. 

Then, with many thanks to the generous fishermen, the 
two visible, and the other one invisible, sought the home of 
the grandfather, where they were to have enjoyed so much 
happiness. 

As they gathered close, Mabelle, sitting on grandfather's 
knee, he said in a trembling voice: "Our meeting is not 
as we planned, but last night my wife and daughter both 
came to me. I know they are now present with us. They 
are happy, and if we are not, we may reflect pain on their 
angel lives. Our family circle of five is not broken ; we are 
all present, and in this reunion we must all be happy.'' 



A FEW LINES FROM EMMA. 

A beautiful young wife died of consumption. Her hus- 
band, after a time, paid court to another, and placed an en- 
gagement diamond ring on her finger. A touch of pain 
and a desire to be brave and unselfish sent the lovely angel 
to me, asking me to send a few verses from her to her 
mother, who was solicitous about the spirit wife's happi- 
ness. This was October 20, 1904. 

I live in the love of Immortals, 

Unshadowed by hate or despair, 
Above all the pain and the wounding 

I might feel on Earth, were I there. 

Time was when I shuddered to sever 
The love-chains, so flowery and sweet, 

And come to this beautiful country 
Where life is more calm and complete. 

My life intertwined with my dear ones, 
I loved my fair pictures and flowers; 

I longed to live on and be happy; — 
I tried all hope's mystical powers. 

But vain were my efforts to conquer; 
Disease slyly blighted my bloom. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 235 

Overcome, when I 'rose from my body, 
I left my keen sorrow and gloom. 

I cannot be selfish in Heaven 

For I was unselfish on Earth! 
I must not go back on my record. 

And tarnish your dreams of my worth. 

I would like to plan for my dear ones; 

I would like to guide and direct, 
But that may not be, dearest mother; 

Our God will sustain and protect. 

I know Love will never discard me 

But rise to my soul evermore. 
I shall hasten from Heaven to comfort, 

And angels will open the door. 

Whatever may come, oh, my mother, 

Be sure there is fulness for me. 
And beauty, and love, and contentment 

More perfect than mortals may see. 

My life is relieved of vexations 

Which Earth-loves forever must know: 
So think not I sigh for the rose-thorns 

Which pierce, while blooms brighten, below. 

Dear mother, I know what you thought of, 

I know what you hoped, but alas, 
It would not have proved as you dreamed it; — 

'Tis better to let the thought pass. 

Now let us blend tears for one moment 
And kiss, just for love and not grief. 

A true mother's heart angels visit 
When Heaven can afford no relief! 

— E. E. T. 



A CHRISTMAS GIFT FROM THE DEAD. 

They had been walking across the narrow ridge of land 
dividing Long Island Sound from Peconic Bay, along the 
path leading from the fishing hamlet of Orient. It was 
autumn, and the sound, green as emerald, flashed and 
sparkled in the soft sunlight, with rifts of spray that looked 
like banks of daisies twining in endless wreaths. Immense 
rocks guarded the shore-line from the encroaching sea, and 
scraggy evergreens showed darkened foliage against the 
white sands. They walked along the path leading to the 



236 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

secluded spot where for nearly two centuries the dead had 
been placed with tender love, and the slabs of black slate, 
moss grown, bore their names, with quaint verses in their 
praise, while grewsome sculpturings of skulls and cross- 
bones, reminded of the terrors of death and dread of the 
hereafter. The gnarled cedars and dwarfed pines whis- 
pered above their heads in prolonged sighs. It was a lovely 
yet lonely place, and they continued their walk toward the 
Bay. Now they seated themselves on a moss-grown trunk, 
without speaking a word — they had scarcely spoken during 
the long walk. There are times thoughts interchange, and 
silence is more expressive than speech. There are times 
when spoken words are tame and weak and a mockery of 
the burning thoughts of the soul. Before them, beyond the 
olive-green sedge meadows, bared by the retreating tide, 
Peconic Bay extended like a silver mirror to the shores of 
Shelter Island. To the left the view extended out to the 
broad Atlantic. The land-birds had all sought the South, 
but over all the waters winged the tireless gulls — like rest- 
less spirits with bodies of sea-foam beaten into form by the 
wind. 

They were fair to see — ^he with his strong frame and 
erect bearing, as though born to command; dark eyes; 
dark, curly hair; a mouth soft in expression, yet with lips 
that were drawn with unchanging decision, and a straight 
nose that gave strength and force of purpose. He wore a 
sailor's cap, and on his breast was a medal for life-saving 
gallantry. She was fair as the wind-flower, with sunny 
hair, blue eyes, and that ripe tint which comes of health 
and exercise in the sea air — delicate, yet strong, and able 
to pull the oar, if need be, with the best. A courage, too, 
had she, born of a long line of seafarers who loved the sea 
as a mother and laughed at her wrathful moods, and once 
it had been tried when one was wanting in the crew pulling 
through the breakers to the succor of a wrecked ship ; she 
took an oar, and, with encouraging smiles to her comrades, 
pulled out into the hell of waters. 

Mark Trescott, Captain Trescott of the Albatross, whaler 
in the Arctic seas, although but twenty-five years of age, 
had made his mark among men who valued men by their 
successful combat with dangers, and who shrank not to 
grapple with the elements. At sixteen he had gone down 
to the sea with his father on a whaling voyage, which car- 
ried them into the Pacific Ocean, and a year later his father 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 237 

being thrown from his boat by a sperm whale, and going 
down into fathomless depths, he assumed command of the 
ship, and after two years returned with a full cargo. His 
next and last voyage had been prosperous, and he was re- 
garded by the community, inclined to superstition, as a 
favorite of fortune and immensely wealthy. 

Elsie Harley was the daughter of his partner in the own- 
ership of the Albatross, whose dwelling overlooked the little 
port, and was one of the first objects to meet the eye of the 
incoming sailor. There was between them the attraction of 
opposites and of likeness, and they had known each other 
from childhood, when they had played with the wrack of 
the shore, built houses of the pretty shells, and wondered at 
the strange forms thrown up by the waves. Yet he had 
never spoken, and she had been seemingly unconscious that 
she was all the world to him. 

That Autumn day he had invited her to that walk, re- 
solved to tell her his life's secret. Now the opportunity 
was his, his tongue refused to speak, and the boon he de- 
sired seemed so great, his audacity in the asking was over- 
whelming. She, with a woman's tact, first broke the em- 
barrassing silence : 

"I love the shore and the sea. The gulls are as friends, 
for when they come in from the waste, they bring our fish- 
ing boats. Our sailor lads are as wise as the birds, and 
know equally well when a storm is brewing. Oh ! there is 
your ship ! When did she come in ?" 

"Last night, from New London, where she had repairs. 
I had her come over the Sound, as I want to ship some old 
comrades here." 

"Oh, are you to go very soon ?" she asked, with suppressed 
emotion. "Four years you were away the last time, and 
only two months at home !" 

"I have consulted your father, and we decided that I sail 
with the tide to-morrow morning." 

"So soon?" The tears starting to her eyes would have 
told the story to one less blind, and yet honest Captain 
Mark saw it not. In her presence he was of so little mo- 
ment that the smallest request he might make appeared 
insufferable arrogance. 

"It is so decided," he replied, not looking at her up- 
turned, earnest face, fearing he would read her indiffer- 
ence. 

"Why must you go like a Viking, seeking dangers, when 



238 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

you might stay at home and give to others the spoils of the 
sea?" 

"Eeally I do not know; I do not amount to much here 
on land, and there is something for me on shipboard. But 
if I am fortunate, this shall be my last voyage." 

"Fortunate ! You mean if you gather a full cargo you 
will then be so wealthy you will not go again ?" 

"That would be fortunate, yet not the fortune I seek. 
If that were all, I would keep right on, and my home would 
be my ship to life's end." 

"There is but one fortune, is there?" she asked in sur- 
prise. 

"Yes, there is a greater fortune, and that is to have a 
loving wife who will put a cable around the heart and be a 
sheet anchor holding one at home. And now I have said 
this much, I will say more, and that is, if you consent to 
thus hold me, the fortune I shall make is yours, and I go 
no more." 

"Oh, how at random you talk! You would weary of a 
quiet life, and away you would go. I should redden my 
eyes with weeping and watching, and grow weary with wait- 
ing for a ship that returned not, and would sink into the 
nonentity of a sailor's widow — scarcely knowing if I were 
one or not." 

He grasped her hand, and said earnestly : "Oh, you are 
cruel to Jest ! Answer me, do you love me ?" 

She turned her blue eyes to his, and with frank honesty 
replied : "Yes, truly I do ; but you do not love me, or you 
would not go." 

"I go because I love you. I want to give you a home 
as good as the one you have ; and I assure you that you will 
not wait too long for my coming." 

"Only four years, or at least three, for that is the usual 
time for a whaler." 

"No, not four years ; not three ; I'll be home next Christ- 
mas time." 

"That is half the time I would have imposed," she said 
banteringly, ^^ut you have set the month and the day, and, 
further, if you do not return on that day I shall consider 
myself free." 

"Ay, free. Have the wedding guests invited, and, if I 
come not, count me dead, and marry another.'^ 

The next morning the wharf was crowded by the vil- 
lagers^ for it was an event in that hamlet when a ship de- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 239 

parted. It carried away sons, husbands and fathers, and 
only by chance would they again be heard from until their 
return. 

The Albatross lay at anchor off the harbor, and Captain 
Mark, with many a hearty handshake, stepped into the 
whale-boat that was to carry him to her. The men lay by 
their oars waiting command. 

"When that anchor is on board it will not be cast until 
in the same place, what may betide*" he said, with a proud 
inflection, "and that will be Christmas day, a year hence." 

"Without a cargo ?" laughingly said the by-standers. 

"No, with a cargo such as no ship has brought for 
years !" 

He gave the word, the oars struck the water as one, and 
soon he stepped on board the ship. The musical "He-o- 
heave" faintly came to the shore. The sails expanded like 
the white wings of the bird which gave her name, and bow- 
ing gracefully, the Albatross sped onward into the purple 
mists which veiled the horizon of the Atlantic. After all 
good-byes, and waving of hands, there was a fluttering of 
a handkerchief from the deck, answered by another on the 
pier. 

A year and two months is a short time to go by the stormy 
Cape Horn into the Pacific, and over that vast expanse to 
the Northern Sea. Yet half that time had not gone by be- 
fore the sailors from the deck of the Albatross saw the ice- 
bergs with glittering pinnacles moving down from the 
North, and with these they saw the great monsters of the 
deep, leviathans, like islands sporting with life, and for a 
time they were busy in their pursuit. The ship had half 
a cargo, and then luck forsook the captain. In vain the 
lookout scanned the limitless ocean. 

Day after day went by, and still the same world of rest- 
less waters without life. The year was almost half gone, 
quite half gone, and now with the best of luck the vaunting 
promise could not be fulfilled. Captain Trescott went to 
his cabin with a heavy heart. He had made a foolish pledge, 
yet honor and love claimed its keeping. His pride would 
listen to no excuse, and miserable, worn and wear}^, he fell 
asleep. Was it sleep, or what shall that state be called which 
allows the approach of spiritual intelligences, or the break- 
ing in of knowledge which otherwise could not be known? 

A stranger entered the cabin in a matter of fact way, and 
approaching gazed intently into his very souL Then he 



240 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

spoke, and he knew that it was not a mortal, but a spirit, 
with whom he conversed. The presence said to him : 

"I was wrecked in a storm, took to the boats, and went 
down. Though I took the ship's papers, I left a letter 
which I want to reach my wife and family, who now suffer 
the greater grief of uncertainty.'' 

"What can I do for you ?" asked Captain Trescott. 

"Visit the wreck ; you are now steering nor'west ; change 
two points by north, and at daylight charge the lookout." 

The captain was wide awake, and, going on deck, found 
that the visitor had correctly told him the direction, al- 
though he had given orders to steer due west. He changed 
the course, and impatiently paced the deck until the gray 
morning broke. He was startled by the lookout calling : "A 
whale!" "Where away?" "On the la'board bow." 

All was excitement on deck, where the mist shut out the 
distance. The captain vainly sought the object with his 
glass, and again called, "Where away?" 

"Approaching on la'board bow." 

Just then the captain caught the object in the field of his 
glass, and an exclamation of wonder escaped him: "A 
wreck !" and scarcely had he spoken when, the fog lifting, 
revealed the black and battered hull of a whaler, her masts 
broken and dragging behind, holding her in steerage way. 
On her bow was her name, scarcely legible: Clio, of New 
Bedford. 

A boat was quickly manned, and the wondering crew soon 
stood on the deserted deck. Captain Mark went down into 
the cabin and found a letter, as he had been told. On the 
wall was a portrait — that of the person he had seen in his 
vision. The letter was superscribed : "The cargo of this ship 
belongs to the one who discovers this letter, and who de- 
livers it to Mrs. James Colton, New Bedford." 

The cargo ! Wlio had thought of a cargo on this derelict ? 
Yet a cargo there was of casks of oil and of whalebone, 
which, when transferred to the Albatross, filled every avail- 
able space, and then not all could be taken. Such a turn 
of luck! And now joyfully the Albatross spread her wings 
and the Southern Cross soon sparkled above, and the pole 
star sank on the horizon. The stormy seas of the cape were 
passed without loss of a shred of canvas, and that was the 
more noticeable, as every rag was set and every reef shaken 
out, and when there was a lull extra sails bent. The oldest 
sailors, who trusted the captain implicitly, deprecated the 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 241 

tempting of Providence by keeping the sails when they 
cracked like whipcords, and the mainsheets hnmmed like 
harpstrings. The spray was flung defiantly from the ship's 
prow as the north star rose, and the bracing winds of the 
North Atlantic gave new life to the sailors, enervated by the 
heat of the tropics. 

It was December when they struck the gulf stream, and 
the 24th that they passed Montauque Point and laid their 
course for Greenport. 

The mists that had been gathering in the East grew 
denser, and a fog fell over the sea with blinding snow. They 
could not see the length of the ship, and, with the increas- 
ing gale, were in a hopeless plight. To keep on would soon 
bring them to a lee-shore, and to turn oceanward and brave 
out the storm was equally hazardous. To perish when al- 
most in sight of home; to go on the shore in calling dis- 
tance of the sought harbor, were more unbearable than per- 
ishing in the unknown North. 

Captain Trescott stood at the bow, vainly keeping watch, 
the snow adhering to his clothing and the spray freezing as 
it fell. He felt that it was vain to hope for rescue, yet 
would he keep stout heart to the end. Suddenly he felt a 
thrill, like a continuous electric discharge, and with it an 
imperative desire to take the helm. It was a strange sensa- 
tion, which he did not understand, and which, in after 
years, he always alluded to with reverence. He obeyed the 
impulse, and, with hands almost frozen to the wheel, held 
his course into the darkness, where the crests of waves 
gleamed like white tusks of devouring monsters. He was 
under the control of an intelligence higher than his own, 
which saw clearly through the night, and over him came a 
perfect trust, as though well knowing his bearings. 

The morning slowly broke — even the drift of clouds, the 
fog, the snow, could not wholly withhold the light that 
Christmas morning. Yet was it no more than a gloomy 
twilight, and the storm still swept landward with increasing 
violence. As the ship plunged on there was a slight abate- 
ment — the sea was not running as high. Surely by some 
mysterious power that controlled the hands of Captain Tres- 
cott, he had steered past the terrible dangers northeast of 
Gardener's Island, and was getting into the smoother 
waters of Gardener's Bay. He did not know, but his mind 
working with that desperate intensity born of danger, hoped 
that it might be so. He steered southwest by west, the sea 



242 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

taming down all the time, and then he called his men to 
stand by the anchor, and be ready at the few sails that gave 
the ship steerage way. 

On and on — it seemed the minutes lengthened to hours 
while they waited for the command, which at last came. As 
it plunged into the waves the vessel came round bow to the 
wind, and the frozen cordage creaked and cracked with the 
new strain. 

Almost instantly the fog lifted; the sun shone through 
the white, rolling masses of clouds, and they found they had 
dropped their anchor within a ship's length of the place 
from which they had taken it when they left that haven. 
On the west were the hamlets, half buried in drifts, of East 
Marion ; south the wooded slope of Shelter Island ; while to 
the north was their own beloved Orient. They had come 
by that wonderful guidance out of the very jaws of death, 
through the narrow channel between Long Beach and Shel- 
ter Island. It was by a power that saw through the storm 
and the darkness as clearly as though it were noonday — a 
power that did not need to take a reckoning or even look 
at the compass. 

Early rising fishermen down to see how their boats fared 
were astonished at the apparition. The buffeted wanderer 
was safe in the harbor of Orient ! The news spread on swift 
wings, and soon half the villagers were on the wharf, con- 
gratulating their returned kinsmen, who had pulled ashore 
in a boat. 

Although Elsie had small hopes of Mark's return, she 
had been busy the previous day preparing a Christmas din- 
ner for a few invited friends. She arose early that morn- 
ing, and had been so busy that the clock struck 10 before 
she even looked out over the bay. The storm had ceased, 
except wandering crystals here and there, like flecks of 
down, and the light was clear over the pearly fields to the 
dark waters. She gazed carelessly across the bay, beyond 
where the old windmill stood like a giant spectre holding its 
bony arms heavenward — and, slowly turning to the harbor, 
her eyes met a sight which made her heart beat with joy. 
There was the Albatross, her black hull low in the water, 
and every shroud and spar white as crystal. The ship had 
come ! Was the captain there ? Ay, there, or never would 
the ship, with such unerring purpose, have found the har- 
bor. Her doubts were soon dispelled, for she saw her father 
^nd Mark, arm in arm, coming up the walk, and with au- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 243 

dacious boldness she was taken up in two strong arms, and 
the captain said bravely : "You see I've won the race." 

"Yes," responded her father, "and the biggest and the 
best cargo ever brought into port." 

At the dinner that day were intimate friends, the min- 
ister and his wife, and Captain Mark, whom "no one ex- 
pected and every one hoped for." Said Mr. Harley, "As I 
can't pledge him in a glass of wine, for wine is not allowed 
in the village, I'll drink to his health this glass of water." 
Draining the glass, he said, "As they say in Germany, 
'^drank to the nail !' and now for the wager. The worthy 
winner shall have his reward. No use waiting or haggling. 
Here is the bride, here is the groom, and here is the minis- 
ter. Nobody answers, silence is consent. We will repair 
to the parlor." Taking Elsie on his arm he led the way, 
and when order was restored he called Captain Mark to the 
broad window overlooking the harbor, and, taking his hand 
and Elsie's, joined them together, and said, "This much I 
can do, and our minister will complete the ceremony." And 
it was finished that happy Christmas day ; two souls, loving 
and trusting each other, were made as one. 

More than half a century has passed since that happy 
day, and in a cottage by the sea yet dwell the captain and 
his wife in beautiful, healthful age. Three sons have they, 
who, with ancestral instincts, have sought the seas ; one sail- 
ing as master of a steamer trading in Australian waters, one 
as captain of an ocean greyhound, and one commander of a 
steel-clad war-ship that guards the rights and honor of the 
nation. 

In closing this story it may be added that Capt. Trescott 
carried the letter he found on the wreck to New Bedford. 
He found that ten years before the ship Clio had sailed 
from that harbor, and had never been heard from. The 
captain's wife, with a babe to care for, had become desti- 
tute, and, as time added to the certainty of her loss, nearly 
broken-hearted. "If I knew his fate!" she would moan. 
"To not know, and be tortured by imagination of horrible 
suffering, starvation and prolonged agony in the icy north, 
is unendurable." Capt. Trescott found her in a dilapidated 
cabin, with her child, where she maintained herself by 
washing for the fishermen, assisted by small charities. He 
related his story, and gave her the letter, which she read 
with tears. "It is passed," she said, "and I rejoice that 
he suffered only death." 



244 A GOLDEN SBEAP 

^'I have another message for you. In this envelope you 
will find the portion which would have been your husband's 
had he safely brought his ship into port. It is only just 
that you have it and be relieved from pressing want. It 
comes somewhat late, but you will accept it, not from me, 
but as a Chkistmas gift from the dead.^' 

It was all conjecture that the ship Clio had, after deser- 
tion in the Arctic Seas, been frozen into the ice and re- 
mained several years before being loosened and drifted 
south. Or perhaps she had drifted all that time, a toy in 
the hands of winds and currents. 



HAYING ONE'S WAY. 

Devotion to one's convictions is noble, but the egotism 
which says my way is best, and nobody shall change me, 
is unwise, disagreeable and an enemy to peace and progress. 
Girls, you do not wish to grow into a woman such as I 
picture below. Be firm and true, but look beyond your 
own nose. 

"I'll have my way!" Who is it says so? A woman, 
most likely — let us look at her. 

The most noticeable thing about her is that her eyes are 
very near together. She can not take a broad view. She 
has her visual organs riveted on a little point, and there 
she proposes to keep them, if the whole world waits. She 
does not know there is any world; all she knows is that 
there is a little point, and that she has planned to cover 
the same. "I'll have my way!" Not because my way is 
best or wisest, but because I planned to have it, and I will. 

We wonder if she knows how hard it is on her to carry 
out her plans ? No, she does not see that ; she only sees the 
little point, and her little resolution, and her little jaw is 
set, and her little eyes cling to the little point she has made 
her little plan to carry out, and her little soul is satisfied 
that she has had her little will^ and her little ambition is 
gratified. Nobody but herself noticed anything about the 
little point, little resolution, little jaw, little plan, or little 
victory. The battle ground was on her little soul, and that 
was the beginning and the end of it all. Then she looses 
her little eyes and says, "I told you I'd have my way." We 
had forgotten all about what she was trying to do. We 



A GOLDEN 8HEAP 245 

had done a dozen things while she was playing anti-mire ; 
but we probably are not as well satisfied with our dozen 
tasks accomplished as she is with ^'having her way/' 

Such women seem wholly unreasoning, and forget that 
the cost is great to themselves when they carry out unwise 
plans. Supposing a woman plans to go shopping a certain 
day. There is no especial reason why she should go that 
day, only she has planned to do so. The morning looks 
unpleasant. Her husband suggests that she had better take 
another day. It looks like rain. She will be inconveni- 
enced by it. 

She will not listen to interference with her plan. She 
will go. 

She comes home with draggled skirts, straightened 
plumes, sour temper, cross words, and all she has gained 
is, she has carried out her plan. 

"I'll have my way !" is a declaration that may show up 
a degree of unreasoning "spirit," but there are nicer at- 
tributes to parade than that. The twentieth century woman 
will aim higher than muleishness, and we trust women's 
eyes will widen until we shall not see any of them grieving 
like pathetic monkeys (did you ever notice how near to- 
gether a monkey's eyes are?) because they could not make 
true the belligerent declaration: 

"I'll have my way!" E. E. T. 



THE EGEET PLUME. 

Lady, take off the egret plumes; 

The fashion is passe; 
The milliner who vends them now 

Must do so at half pay. 
Those who have heard the cruel tale 

Those dainty things reveal 
Wear them no more. They now remain 

For those whose hearts are steel. 

Only at brooding time those plumes 

Grow on the mother bird, 
And by her murder, ere her young 

Can fly, this style absurd 
Is foisted on the uninformed. 

Whose hearts are not unkind, 
But aid the shocking cruelty 

By paying for it, blind. 



246 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

If ladies who, with purse in hand, 

Select these fairy things 
Which only can be worn by death, 

And dear shot-shattered wings, 
The milliners could never hire 

Them thus to advertise 
Their heartlessness and vanity. 

For people to despise. 

Lady, take off the egret plume; 

Eeplace it by a flower; 
Declare yourself against this wrong 

With all a woman's power! 
It does not make you beautiful, 

As is your heart's desire, 
But tells such shocking tragedies 

As 'waken holy ire. 

Oh, give us beauty in your eyes. 

Those windows of the soul; 
And sweet lips, shaped by tenderness. 

And royal self-control. 
Attraction radiates from within. 

Not from a dead bird's wing, 
Love nurtured on ignoble things 

Will elsewhere fly to sing. 



— E. E. T. 



LEASEES NOT LIFTERS. 

I noticed Mrs. Bell looked tired and disspirited. She 
was a cheery, philosophical woman, who endeavored to do 
her part in life with as little friction as possible. Her 
home was pleasant and there was an atmosphere about it 
restful and sweet. 

"They all just love it here !" said Bessie Bloom, as she 
called on her one day and found a cousin settled down for 
a six weeks' visit, an old friend of the Bell family, into 
which Mrs. Bell had married twenty years before, who was 
now on the retired list and trying to make her support as 
easy as possible to her own relatives, by visiting a season to 
"rest them up ;" and then there was Eaton, a colored man, 
who had met disaster by sickness, and had come in to get a 
little sympathy, and a good sized basket filled with whatever 
Mrs. Bell could collect for him in the way of edibles. 

Bessie said again, when she caught her alone a moment, 
"My! Mrs. Bell, dont they just love it here?— and I do 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 247 

too/' she said, laughing, "and it is because we all get some- 
thing. I wish I could see some kind way by which you can 
prevent being lifter for about ten leaners. You are over 
the danger line and you can't stand it much longer." 

Mrs. Bell said, gently, "Yes, dear, but I can't help it as 
I am never asked whether I can endure more leaners or not. 
There are so few people who can put themselves in another's 
place, and the comfort and endurance of the lifter is not 
often thought of by the leaners. They just take the pleas* 
antest leaning places." 

"And you are all generosity and charity, and realize their 
thoughtlessness; but that will not save you," argued Bessie. 

"Xext summer, when the Bolton girls drop down on the 
farm, with two Saratoga trunks full of cool wash dresses, 
to lean on you through the August heat, you will smile and 
lift a good deal harder for their pleasure. But self-justice 
must not be forgotten, and it is time you began petting 
yourself, Mrs. Bell," argued still the pretty little adviser. 

Bessie was talking straight truth, but whether lovely Mrs. 
Bell can extricate herself from her unjust situation is a 
question. I hope she can, and I hope my over-taxed sisters 
will use all the tact they possess to convert some of the 
well-muscled leaners about the home into lifters. At least 
they can, if worst comes to worst, give them Samantha's 
advice to Betsy Bobbet — "Lean onto yourself, Betsy!" 

E. K. T. 



"BUM," OF SAN DIEGO. 

Some sub-human individuals achieve fame on their merit. 
They are. strong characters ; intelligent, noble, trusty and 
lovable. They make an impression on their human ac- 
quaintances and awaken the true spirit of comradeship. 
They live their noble lives, and sometimes go into history, 
as did Bum, a remarkable dog of which I write. 

When quite a small pup Bum was brought, on a steamer, 
from San Francisco to San Diego, no one knows by whom, 
and adopted by the city. 

He was everybody's pet and everybody's friend. No 
doors were closed against him. When he was hungry he 
went to the nearest restaurant and received his rations. He 
was fed with pleasure and never denied. 



248 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Bum had a misfortune. By an accident he lost one fore 
foot, and then he had to travel on three feet. 

When he lay on the pavement resting, as, after he was 
crippled, was frequently his way, all pedestrians turned out 
for him, giving him a word of salutation. No one would 
disturb his rest. He kept his ambition and interest in the 
affairs of the city. 

When the fire alarm was given Bum understood the 
signal and followed the engine, barking and yelping until 
the excitement was over and the fire outfit returned. 

This remarkable dog was an independent traveler, and 
never made any mistakes in his goings and comings. By 
some method unknown to us, wiser humans, he equaled us 
in the precision of his achievements. 

When Bum wanted to go to Los Angeles he went to the 
depot, boarded the train, got off at the right stop, stayed 
as long as he desired to, and when ready to return took 
the train for San Diego and knew when he reached his 
destination as well as any other San Diegan. 

One Fourth of July Capt. Friend, a warm friend of 
Bum, decked him with flags and gay ribbons, placed him 
on the front seat of his carriage and joined the long pro- 
cession parading the streets. Bum entered into the spirit 
of the occasion and expressed himself in true dog fashion. 

Some years ago Mr. Magwood, a merchant, adopted Bum 
into his family and business establishment and regularly 
cared for him. 

Later on Bum, who was getting along in years, met 
another accident and had a hind leg broken. Mr. Mag- 
wood placed him on a mattress made up with sheets and 
a pillow, after which he called a surgeon to set and dress 
the broken leg, Bum's most loving friends sympathizingly 
looking on while the work was done. A fine photograph 
of the dog and his friends, during the operation, was 
taken, and called "Bum in the Hands of the Surgeon," 
which was used to decorate calendars, and was very popu- 
lar with San Diegans. 

During Bum's confinement with his broken leg many 
ladies called, bringing him dainties and leaving their cards 
with his benefactor. 

After he recovered Mr. Magwood found it necessary to 
move to a new place and Bum resolutely refused to leave 
the old locality. Persuasion was ineffectual, as, like most 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 249 

old folks, he had grown to love home and quiet. He seemed 
lonesome and dejected. 

Capt. Friend telephoned to the superintendent of the 
county infirmary at Mission Valley, near the city, to send 
a carriage up for Bum, which he did, taking him home with 
him, and tenderly caring for him until he died of old age. 
"I called,^^ said Miss Emily Phillips of San Diego, to me 
me, "to see him once while he was living there, and he 
gave me a cordial welcome. If Capt. Friend had been 
living when Bum died he would have had a funeral." 

Who can say the noble dog had no soul ? I cannot, since 
I have to believe in a God as limitless as the universe, which 
I believe he permeates. Soul and life mean more to me 
than they once did, and I cannot declare pompously that 
I know all about the complexity of God's works. He does 
not expect it of us little folk. He is infinite and we are 
finite, but love is universal, and we cannot bestow too much 
of it on his creatures. E. E. T. 



THE DEATH OF M'KINLEY. 

Not the president — only a dog named after him. Both 
were assassinated — shot by stealthy enemies ; both were in- 
nocent victims to inferior human beings whose lives were 
worth less than theirs. 

When the president died a world mourned. Wlien the 
dog died a few coarse men who hung about the saloon of 
the man who shot him, haw-hawed. Some little children 
wept — his friends; for he had a happy home and was one 
of the family who owned him and were fond of his com- 
panionship; they tenderly lifted him from the spot where 
he was murdered, made a grave near the home and buried 
him tearfully. It was all over with the dead dog. His 
young master had loved him ever since he was a little 
puppy, and he was very sorrowful. He even wanted to 
avenge the wrong. 

He hated the sinner; he wanted to shoot salt into his 
legs; he carried a billy up his sleeve and longed to use it 
on the stupid head ; he called him a devil, but finally ended 
with a hope that he would have delirium tremens, and 
imagine he was being bitten and chewed, and chased (he 
was so bloated he could not run) by McKinley himself. 
That is the kind of thoughts which such cruelty and in- 



250 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

justice call out in children and young people, and in adults 
too many times. 

But the lad^s father said : "We will have the sinner ar- 
rested for shooting within the corporation, and fined." That 
was done, and the shot cost the assassin $8.00. He will 
receive that lesson, and will feel the thought waves of 
hatred and disapproval beating in on his brain. He will 
meet frowns instead of good will and respect. That will 
effect his happiness much more than the loss of the $8.00. 

This bad man had, the afternoon before he shot the pet 
dog, shown his disposition by assailing his wife. He had 
been so disagreeable she thought she would go to some 
friends and visit a few days. When she went aboard the 
trolley car he pulled her off, took her hand-grip and 
stamped upon it, declaring she should not go. 

Friends, however, helped her aboard and she went. So, 
being full of ire, and bad whiskey, he wanted to injure 
something. He saw McKinley passing quietly down the 
street to his home and shot him. That is the story of the 
death of a dumb creature which never injured his assassin. 
The story of an aged dog and a man. Which do you like 
best? 

What do you think of saloons and the use of intoxicating 
drinks? Is not anything which deprives a person of the 
use of reason and good judgment dangerous? 

Is not a person who disregards the rights of animals 
almost sure to do the same to human beings ? E. R. T. 



MARRIAGE. 



The difference in the condition of man and woman has 
been an element of confusion in reasoning on the relations 
they sustain to each other. She, being the weaker, has, 
during the vast ages of the supremacy of physical force, 
been the subject of man. Instead of the wife being the 
equal of her husband she has been his abused slave and 
beast of burden. It is interesting to trace the marriage 
relation as it arises from the brutal instinct to the spiritual 
plane, and note the slow changing of an intense, selfish ap- 
petite to an ally of the purest sentiments and feelings of 
humanity. 

The union of man and woman in the relation of hus- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 251 

band and wife, a connection around which the holiest affec- 
tions and purest emotions of the heart gather, to ns is so 
natural that we infer all the races of men regard it in the 
same manner. Yet, in the lower tribes, marriage, as we 
understand that relation, does not exist. The conjugal 
instinct in the savage, like all his appetites, is unrestrained 
by higher feelings. We perceive, as we arise to more ad- 
vanced stages, the blending of the higher with the lower 
motives, but nowhere the full and complete supremacy of 
the higher. Marriage, even with the most advanced, is not 
free from the. stain of the lower nature. 

When the Bushman wants to marry he conceals himself 
by a frequented path and the one he has chosen passes, 
fells her with a club, and drags her to his lair. From his 
estate to the present civilization there has been a million 
years, yet must we confess that there are reversions to this 
brutal wooing. 

The state and church unite in support of the old idea o± 
woman's subjection to man and making her bondage to her 
husband indissoluble. 

Marriage, considered as a sacrament, solemnized by 
God's vicegerent on earth, cannot be annulled. This pre- 
supposes that the right individuals unite, and presents an 
enchanting view, for what otherwise would become galling 
chains give rest and security. Love receives the sanction 
of divine authority, and is declared eternal. 

But the right individuals do not always unite. Fallible 
human nature errs in its judgment, and too late finds the 
enchanted palace a torture-chamber. Such unions cannot 
have been made in heaven. The social philosopher swings 
with a bound to the denial of all marriage obligations 
beyond those of a civil contract, and so far from its being 
an indissoluble, like all legal contracts it may at any time 
be dissolved by the consent of the parties. 

Is this true? 

As far as marital laws protect the rights of the contract- 
ing parties and their offspring, it is like other contracts, 
while beyond these limits it becomes subject to higher laws. 

A legal contract, if justly made, when fulfilled, leaves 
the contracting parties as they were before it was made. 
If the marriage relation is assumed, can the contracting 
parties make restitution, and is it not impossible to fulfill 
its obligations except with an entire and devoted life? 
Furthermore, the institution, with all its enactments, looks 



252 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

beyond, to children, as a third party, who, although outside 
of, absolutely depend on its provisions. It is assuredly 
erroneous to term such an agreement a legal contract, which 
may be annulled at any time by the desire of one or both 
of the parties. 

The rights which grow out of marriage may be defined 
by law, but no human enactments can reach the subtile 
relations of souls. Estates, real and personal, may be 
measured and apportioned by law; the heart lies beyond 
its province. Sacred and holy are its relations, and so far 
as it is concerned marriage becomes a divine sacrament ; the 
golden chalice in which the mutual lives of parents and 
offspring are pressed by generous hands to willing lips. 

Marriage demands honor, truthfulness and fidelity. 
While love is free to choose, it is not free to cast aside 
duties once assumed. 

If allowed to decide with every momentary whim, there 
could be no marriage, which by its nature contemplates 
and presupposes permanency. The pledges of love are ex- 
changed under the assurance of unchangeableness, for love 
is prophetic and recognizes with clear prescience its de- 
mands. 

Conjugal love is exclusive, because it presciently feels 
what science is slowly but surely revealing, the great and 
imperishable influence the parents have over each other 
through the parental act. The very being of the mother 
is moulded by the force which fashions the germ after the 
father. She assimilates his character and becomes like him. 
It is a union more close than were the same blood to pass 
through their united veins, and beyond this, in the domain 
of subtile magnetism, as yet almost unheeded, are more 
delicate blendings. 

The attraction and repulsion which finer natures experi- 
ence, and which are remorselessly sacrificed to convenience 
or interest, are the sure guides to proper unions, and the 
health, beauty and development of offspring are directly 
related to their satisfaction and balance, for they express 
the primal condition of the spirit, which builds up the 
physical body. 

The suffering which flows from ruthlessly ignoring con- 
jugal love, both mental and physical, is beyond expression. 
The transmission of disease, long latent in the father, is 
the most obvious evidence of the foregoing statements. The 
poison may not appear in the same form as in the father, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 253 

but attacking the weakest organ of the mother, appear in 
consumption, nervous debility, scrofula or cancer. Or it 
may fail to appear in the mother and attack her children, 
or, passing over a generation, develop in loathsome forms 
in the grandchildren. 

Thus the necessity of removing marriage from the plane 
of the appetites and desires, to that of purest spiritual 
necessities, and its consummation by the guidance of knowl- 
edge instead of blind, infatuated ignorance, is presented in 
the strongest light. 

Love is free to choose, but in man love means more than 
instinct; it means the affections and all that vast sphere 
of unselfish qualities which have been termed benevolence. 
Having made the choice, it incurs the most momentous 
duties possible for a human being to assume, and rights 
spring up which cannot be set aside. These can be prop- 
erly met only by a life of mutual devotion between the 
husband and wife. The result of their united love is an 
immortal spirit, coming unconsulted into the wonderful 
arena of life, and claiming as a right, inalienable affection 
and care of father and mother. 

Beyond true conjugal love no higher relation can exist. 
It is the foundation of social life, and as in its lowest ex- 
pression it is the creator of beings, in its higher it is the 
golden bond which unites them in universal brotherhood. 

This union has no demand for divorce. Then you would 
not permit separation. 

Until mankind become educated and learn that the lower 
faculties, the appetites and desires, must be controlled by 
the higher intellectual and spiritual being; learn that the 
brute man is not master, but the spirit-man should be dic- 
tator; as long as marriage is contracted for convenience, 
interest, or purposelessly, and the finer attractions ignored 
or unrecognized, there will be baneful contracts, which are 
more sinful in keeping than in breaking. If the husband 
and wife become hateful to each other ; if the old fable of 
the union of beauty and the beast is repeated ; if refinement, 
purity and spirituality are united with coarseness and bru- 
tality, there is no law of right or justice which should keep 
them together. 

So far from divorce in such cases being immoral, it is the 
depth of degradation and immorality to compel the pure 
and noble to accept the vile and detestable in the nearest 
relations of human life. 



254 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



THE LESSON OF SHAMS. 

Sad heart in the valley of humiliation, because your idol 
is broken and the enshrined god revealed as basely human, 
was it your fault ? Is it your fault that the illusion made a 
demi-god of a weak, fallible mortal? The great and true 
man stands for principles as their embodiment and expo- 
nent, but what does the conceited victim of passion repre- 
sent? He may have been an anointed teacher through 
whose lips the angels of heaven sang harmoniously — now 
recreant to the overshadowing divinity, his character is 
presented in dark shades against the shining background. 

What is an individual that we should pause in our en- 
deavor to analyze his motives or pass judgment on his 
shortcomings? The victim judges himself, and falls out 
of the ranks he has led; falls into imbecility, into inanity, 
into nothingness so far as leadership is concerned, and fully 
bears the penalty nature, insatiate in her savage mood, 
enforces. 

If the individual became a part of the truth he advo- 
cated, and that truth was responsible for his conduct of 
life, then truly we might mourn, and the affliction would 
be world-wide. But the truth is propped by no man or 
number of men ; when once given expression, it is the com- 
mon property of mankind. The grandeur of the truth he 
utters may fall like a raiment on its exponent, to fall off at 
length, like the lion's skin, revealing a nameless creature 
whom the Creator must have made as a joke, and benevo- 
lently fostered out of pity for its ugliness. What then? 
Shall we bow in the dust and shed bitter tears? Shall 
we lose faith in righteousness, and question the supremacy 
of justice? Was it the truth or its exponent we enter- 
tained ? If the latter, the lesson is priceless. 

We have set up an oracle; the light of the morning has 
touched its brow, as of Memnon, and its lips have uttered 
sentences of divine sweetness, which have gone to our 
hearts, and our spiritual horizon has broadened infinitely 
beyond its former reach. Now we bow to the oracle instead 
of the light, and as we bow it is changed to a gibbering 
satyr, and the light falling on his wrinkled brow, his words 
no longer sweet with the melody of love, he shrieks with 
passion stirred to its hideous depths. The lesson is ours : 
Call np man master ; accept no leadership ; expect not per- 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 255 

fection in the wisest or the best. Bow only to the light of 
the truth ; that will remain, that is steadfast, that is a staff 
which never fails of support. Individuals are its footballs. 
They may rise or sink as foam-balls on the tide, what 
matters it? 

The individual may be of infinite consequence to him- 
self, and his conceit stretch up to the ordering of changes 
in the laws of the universe; yet human history ran on be- 
fore his birth, and will go on after the brief pendulum 
swing of his life is done. The stars shine tonight, the sun 
will rise tomorrow; the problem of events moves forward 
toward solution, and the splurges of froth the individual 
mistook for a cataclysm leave no trace. In the old tale, 
when the pea-leaf fell on chicken-diddle, he thought the 
whole sky had come down, but his wise mother told him not 
to fear, it was the tiniest leaf; and many a bewildered 
'^reformer" has thought the social fabric heaving with an 
earthquake, when it has only the giddiness of his own soft- 
ening brain. 

We must be just. \Ye can renounce the renegade to duty, 
the traitor to friendship, the traducer of our belief, the 
defamer of principles dear to us, and the Judas who be- 
trays our cause to scoffs and sneers, and yet hold fast to 
all that he may have uttered that is true. 

We can afford to be generous, pitying the wrongdoer, 
while we execrate the wrong. As there is no vicarious 
atonement for us ; as we must work out our own salvation, 
we cannot become a vicarious sacrifice for any one else. 
We are for ourselves and ourselves only. 



256 A GOLDEN SHEAF 



A GOLDEN SHEAF FEOM OUE FEIENDS. 

Friendship springs from sympathy of souls, and many, 
near and dear to us, we have never met face to face and 
correspondence has brought us in touch over wide reaches 
of land and sea. 

When this volume was announced, so many letters came 
to us fraught with words of cheer that we concluded to 
make them into a chapter and share them with our read- 
ers. We have written, often at the sacrifice of other du- 
ties; in hours of weariness and discouragement; when 
the distractions of a busy life of cares had to be, for the 
hour, set aside. Our writings went out on the seething 
sea of literature, like bread cast on the waters, and we 
know not where they went on the drifting currents. They 
seemed lost; our labor lost, and no one wiser, better or 
interested. All seemed lost on unknown shores. 

Now, these letters, with many more we cannot publish, 
come and tell us how, often years and years ago, some 
broken fragment reached minds receptive and were of use. 
The sowing has not been all on waste waters. Never has 
poem or article reached our ideals. Words refuse to fully 
convey the clearness of inspiration. Consequently these 
letters give us exceeding pleasure and we are thankful to 
the writers one and all. They are as priceless incense 
on the altar of friendship, assuring us that the work of 
our lives in this direction has not been in vain. 

There is another reason why we wish to bind these pre- 
cious stalks into a sheaf of golden friendship for our book. 
We hope you will become acquainted with each other and 
extend the pleasure you have given us to others just as 
responsive and desirable. We wish we had your dear 
pictures here with your letters, that each of our golden 
circle might look in the faces of all the rest and be happy. 
We hope you may exchange letters and photographs, for 
life is broader and richer by extended acquaintance with 
those of similar thoughts and motives, and we are glad to 
introduce you to each other, presenting first the lady of 
Arringdon Hall, Falls Church, Virginia, who is an artist 
in both painting and music. She is the wife of Maj. M. S. 
Hopkins, whose letter appears further on. 



A GOLDEN 8HEAF 257 

TO MR. AND MRS. HUDSON TUTTLE. 

1857— AN ACROSTIC— 1907. 

After fifty wedded years. 

Golden, now, in life 's low sun, 
Only sweetest hopes — no fears — 
Line your pathway. You have done, 
Dears, the world * ' a world of good ' ' ; 
Every noble verse has cheered 
Needy souls — who understood — 

Soothing many a heart that feared. 
Here I press a kiss on you — 
Embellishing my lines, a bit — 
And wish you long, long life anew. 
Fifty Years! Just think of it! 
— Clarentene Clay Hopkins, ''Arringdon Hall," Falls Church, 
Virginia. 

An envelope addressed as below contained an order as 
facetiously expressed from the Seer of Poughkeepsie : 

Philosophers, 

Poets, Hudson and Emma Tuttle^ 

Teachers, Berlin Heights, Ohio. 

Practitioners. 

Dear Golden Friends: 

Please send, for the enclosed picture paper (a two dol- 
lar bill), two copies of "A Golden Sheaf," to my address. 
Your steadfast co-laborer, 

Andrew Jackson Davis. 

My Dear Mr. Tuttle: 

Permit me to congratulate you and Mrs. Tuttle on the 
coming 50th anniversary. Your lives have been a great 
benediction to your fellows, and it will be many years 
before the world will have outlived your books. 
Yours as ever, 

I. K. Funk. 

Major Marcus S. Hopkins won laurels for gallantry and 
courage in the civil war and retired with wounds almost 
mortal. Eecovering, he became an authority on patent 
claims in the patent office. He is a time-old friend, of 
sixty years, unbroken. From his beautiful home at Falls 
Church, Va., he sends the following characteristic greeting : 



258 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

My Dear Friends: I think most people talk as if they 
believed in the future life and act very much as if they 
did not. But as this borders on the controversial, let me 
tell you a story in rhyme which I hope may tide you along 
another half century to another golden wedding day — and 
may I be there to see ! 

In ancient London town one day, 

When fierce destructive mobs had sway, 

And bricks and stones in vengeance hurled 

Sent many to another world, 

A crashing missile struck His Grace, 

The Duke of York, full in the face. 

One conscious moment served to show 

The bloody mischief of the blow; 

When horror shook his noble frame, 

And mercy, in a dead faint, came. 

I i We 've slain the Duke ! ' ' the rabble said, 

And in dismay the cowards fled. 

The body, on a shutter laid. 

Was to a pharmacy conveyed. 

Where quick examination showed 

The source from whence the blood had flowed. 

The doctor said, with twinkling eye, 

* * The Duke 's been hit with a cherry pie. ' ' 

Affectionately, — Marcus S. Hopkins, 

Dear Brother and Sister Tuttle : 

Briefly I wish to congratulate you on the arrival of your 
Golden Wedding, an exceptionally important event in your 
ever active career, especially as your whole lives have been 
so interblended with good deeds that will live in the future, 
benefiting the world. To say that you both have made a 
deep, lasting and favorable impression on the present age, 
is putting it mildly. 

Yours cordially, 

J. E. Francis, 
[Editor and Publisher of the Progressive Thinker, Chi- 
cago, 111.] 

From B. F. Underiuood, Lecturer, Author and Editor. 

My Dear Friend: You have long been known by your 
writings to independent thinkers, many of whom will be 
glad of the opportunity afforded to learn of your life and 
works. I read with deepest interest and admiration the 
"Arcana of Nature,'^ the year it originally appeared, and 
I have always regarded it as the most remarkable contribu- 
tioij to the literature of Spiritualism. I know of no other 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 259 

work of that day that presents the conception of Evolution 
so attractively. I was not surprised when I saw the "Ar- 
cana" freely quoted by Dr. Buechner in his "Force and 
I^Iatter," and I was amused on reading of his seeking your 
acquaintance when he came to this country, because of 
your advanced ideas, and his surprise to learn that such 
work could come from a Spiritualist ! And then measuring 
your head to determine whether you had brain enough to 
write such a book! 

Considering your youth when the book was written, your 
lack of opportunities for scientific and literary education 
up to that time, together with the original idea and its 
scientific knowledge so manifest in the work, and the vigor 
and eloquence of the composition, the "Arcana of Nature 
is a production I am unable to explain, without assuming 
that it emanated from intelligences in part, at least, beyond 
yourself. Since then you have by study and inspiration 
become educated and many valuable treatises have come 
from your pen, but the "Arcana," in my mind, will always 
be most prominently connected with you, because of the 
facts and circumstances of its production. 

And, Mrs. Tuttle, we know you from your books, your 
fine essays, poetry and stories, and other writings on many 
reform subjects, and always link the names of Hudson 
and Emma together. We remember you both as contrib- 
utors to the Index (Boston) when Mrs. Underwood and I 
edited that paper in the eighties. We know of your work 
for children and for humane treatment of animals. 
With appreciation and best regards, 

B. F. Underwood. 

I am 82 years of age and suffering from a disease which 
must soon terminate my life here. I have read all your 
published writings with delight and want to please my 
friends by sending them copies of your promised book. 
To make sure this is done I send you a list of names with 
the pay, and request you to mail them for me in my name. 
It is the last good thing I shall be able to do in this life. 

A. B. Gleason, Corona, Cal. 

This pathetic passage, taken from a letter of this noble 
man, speaks of the soul's triumph over death, and those 
who receive this book must accept it as a gift from the 
angel above. 



260 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Eeceive the hearty felicitations on your fiftieth anniver- 
sary of marriage. Congenially yours, 

J. S. G -VBA^L, de Bilt, Holland. 

Hotel Astor, New York. 

I have just received the announcement of your forth- 
coming book, "A Golden Sheaf/' marking your fiftieth 
wedding anniversary. To me it is of especial interest to 
see those who early in life enthusiastically took up philan- 
thropic and progressive work, and who, as age is creeping 
on, show in the same cause the enthusiasm of youth. I 
have also been greatly interested in your joint labors, be- 
cause they have been scientific and conservative on the one 
hand and full of sunshine and brightness on the other, 
which has been of great benefit to the cause we all hold so 
dear. It is also to my mind a beautiful picture — this of 
two companions united in youth, going hand in hand 
through life, and whose honeymoon has been prolonged well 
nigh to the golden wedding. 

Kindly accept congratulations and assurances of great 
interest. Always your friend, 

Emmet Densmore. 

Dr. Densmore is well known for his scientific and medical 
works, and has recently published a remarkable book titled 
"Sex Equality." 

In the fifty years of your united lives, while one has 
wrought with steady persistence a spiritual science of life, 
here and hereafter, explaining mysteries and exposing 
sophistries, the other has woven the highest spiritual truths 
into sweet verses and awakened the music of immortality 
in countless souls that shivered in the shadows of desola- 
tion of grief. I hail you as life's victors ! I am glad you 
inherited intelligence and progressive instinct, that led 
you to the mystic altar of inspiring intelligences. Glad 
the Poetry of the Morning Land distils its fragrance and 
finds utterance. Glad you have been spared to give us 
this "Sheaf" gleaned from the fields of fifty years. 
Most cordially your friend, 

Lyman C. Howe. 

Dear Emma, your poems come to me pure and sweet as 
the water Hudson brought from the "Well House" across 
the way at Lily Dale so many years ago for our dear Maud, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 261 

who was then ill. As we have enjoyed yonr thoughts in 
preceding books, so we shall in in "A Golden Sheaf." 
Angels bless you. Sarah E. Howe. 

How my mind goes back over the years as I recall the 
books that have come to us from your facile pens ! In 
my early twenties I obtained the two volumes of your 
••^Arcana of Nature/^ which I eagerly devoured and have 
kept in a conspicuous place on the shelves of my library 
down to the present time. Your "Eeligion of Man," 
"Arcana of Spiritualism," "From Soul to Soul," "Asphodel 
Bloods," and "Lyceum Guide" all stand out before my 
mind's eye as works beyond price, and were I unable to 
secure other copies of the same I should feel bereft, indeed. 

Fifty-five years as workers in the spiritual vineyard, and 
fifty years together as husband and wife ! Truly, this is 
a wonderful record, and one of which you have good cause 
to be justly proud. Your thousands of friends throughout 
the world share this pride with you. They have all held 
you in the highest personal esteem and have looked upon 
you as among the noblest representatives of the glorious 
truths that obtain in our religion. 

"A Golden Sheaf," representing the harvesting of the 
fruitage of all the years of endeavor through which you 
have journeyed! I cannot help associating you with my 
own dear parents, who walked and worked together in this 
lower life almost fifty years. Father went home just ten 
weeks before we were to have celebrated his golden wedding. 
Your sincere friend, 

Harrison D. Barrett, 

Prest. F. S. A. 

To Emma Rood Tutile, Poet and Philanthropist, for 
''The Golden Sheaf." 

BY SARA A. UNDERWOOD. 

Dear friend of years, though yet unseen — 
Whose tender thoughts, expressed in rhyme. 

Taught me to know the worthy queen 
Of Hudson's heart, soul friend of mine, 

From "Soul to Soul" the message flew, 

With sympathetic oneness fraught, 
'Twixt you and me, soon as I grew 

To know you through your printed thought. 



262 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

We've met but in the spirit yet — 

And conversed but through inky pages, 

Yet feel we know each other better 

Than those who meet through social stages. 

Here's wishing you, and Hudson, too, 

A golden climax to your marriage — 
Which sure was "heaven-made" since you've staid 

In bonds of love to such a rare age ! 

Col. R. T. Van Horn, Kansas City. 

As. my wife and I are eight years further along in gath- 
ering our sheaf than you, and yet in good health and no 
divorce proceedings, we congratulate you on being so far 
along on the same road. We join in good wishes with your 
host of friends. 

The world moves fast, and how much the cause to which 
you have given your active life has had to do with this 
advance we will be better able to judge from the prospective 
of another life. The cause to which you have given your 
life's labors has kept pace. The idea of continuous life 
has practically superseded the old idea of death. The old 
theology is dying. And I can and do say it, without in 
any sense of flattery or compliment, that no one man has 
done more to make this new philosophy of spirit acceptable 
and permanent among thinking people than Hudson 
Tuttle. And the fact that you stayed in one place, making 
a continuous home, where in uninterrupted and in direct 
contact with nature you could receive and publish the 
truths you saw and felt, was not the least wise action that 
has been yours in all these eventful years. 
With congratulations, 

E. T. Van Horn. 

It was surely a happy inspiration — the issuance of the 
early "Blossoms" and this ripened fruitage. . . . How 
glorious is life when crowned with goodness and usefulness 
and the ripened fruitage of the autumnal season falling in 
clusters from an unfolded and exalted intelligence. May 
many years of usefulness and happiness yet be yours, is 
the wish of your friend and co-worker, 

Clara Watson, Jamestown, N". Y., 
Author and Lecturer. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 263 

With your many friends I wish you many years in your 
life's work here and a pleasant journey over the western 
slope, and for your happiness and success. 

B. H. Weight, South Dakota. 

We send our best and heartiest congratulations to your 
Golden Wedding day and hope for your health and happi- 
ness Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. Karleskind, 

St. Louis, Mo. 

We are not strangers, though we have never met. . . . 
So here's my hand and a hearty shake to you both, and no 
limit to my good wishes. 

D. C. McDouGALL, Rockford, 111. 

Fifty years of married life ! At that point I become in- 
terested, for the case becomes personal and a golden entity. 
These fifty years wife and I have been in unison and happy 
in the beautiful promise that reaches to the time when we 
must exchange our last farewells here for our greeting over 
there. Until then fraternally, 

Charles L. Waffles, Holland, Mich. 

For a quarter of a century or more I have been inter- 
ested and greatly benefited by your writings. Let me con- 
gratulate you on having arrived at the fiftieth anniversary 
of your marriage. I hope you may both be spared to cele- 
brate your seventy-fifth anniversary. But if you are called 
to go up higher before you will be only transferred to 
another zone of activity and usefulness. To leave this 
world is not a calamity. Now we are in the kindergarten 
or the primary. The time will come to us all when we 
shall be assigned to another department. It depends upon 
the student whether he shall be put at the foot of the class 
or stand higher up after his reassignment. May the 
exalted ones inspire you here and give you a hearty wel- 
come over there. 

E. A. Dague, Tacoma, Wash. 

Brother and Sister Tuttle: ,. ^ - .i, 

4ls one of the very few old-time Spiritualists trom the 
old Green Mountain state of Vermont still in the form, 
I extend the willing hand of friendship and special regard 
across the wide space that lies between us and greet you 



264 A GOLDEN SEEAF 

as two world-wide known Blossoms of the Spring-Time of 
Spiritualism in America, and have safely and grandly ar- 
rived at the golden year of the fruitage time which will 
truly be ^^A Golden Sheaf." I heard the raps when they 
left Hydesville on their journey around the world, and I 
had a copy of your "Blossoms of Our Spring" and you 
can enter my name as a subscriber to "A Golden Sheaf." 
Although fourscore and three, I am still a 

New-Man-Weeks, Ocean City, N. J. 

How appropriate the title, "A Golden Sheaf," for your 
commemorative volume ! I trust your host of friends will 
give it a warm welcome. For over thirty years I have been 
interested in your combined labors for the education and 
advancement of young and old, and my interest deepens 
with time. The Children's Lyceum has engaged the greater 
part of my time and energies. I am glad to say my efforts 
have met with great encouragement. There are now 200 
lyceums connected with societies and the work is rapidly 
spreading. Would that American Spiritualists would 
awaken to the fact that the truest and best reformation is 
that laid in the hearts and minds of the children. 

Alfred Kitson-, 
Gen. Sec. British Lyceum Union, 
Dewsbury, England. 

And now I see my dear good friends, Hudson and Emma 
Eood Tuttle, sailing joyfully along down the golden river 
of time. The waters are still and deep and the banks of 
perpetual green please and soothe and lure along the placid 
way. And to them, the voices, the finer forces say. Come 
along; draw nearer and nearer to our wonderful world 
where indeed there are many splendid mansions, founded 
and reared for those only "able to receive" and occupy. 
A love-life of fifty years is beautiful beyond all comparison 
with anything that the earth presents. Hand in hand 
along the golden strand, and heart to heart with no such 
word as part. During all of my literary career the names 
of Hudson and Emma Eood have been to me as a deep 
inspiration. And as close and as near and dear as my 
own most intimate friends, seen and heard every day. 
Many times when I have read and studied pure materialism 
for days, months and years, and when all traces of belief 
in the existence of the soul seemed to have been extin- 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 265 

guished, some blessed word in some book or article from 
them would brush away dust from the one golden thread of 
belief — which, sure enough, has never been broken. 

These distinguished writers, as a result of their life-work, 
have really drawTi the spiritual and material worlds ex- 
ceedingly near. At no period, perhaps, in history has the 
veil been so thin and easily penetrated. ^^Eending the veil" 
may not occur — the entire fabric without doubt will vanish. 
We will then see all existing things as they are. And every 
trace of false sentimentalism will disappear. We will treat 
ourselves, that is, our mental and spiritual selves, by accu- 
rate scientific methods. How very careful we will be to 
obey the laws of Nature when we see our own souls in true 
scientific light. Edgar L. Larkins, 

Aug. 25, 1907. Lowe Observatory, 

Echo Mountain, Cal. 

This is the great privilege of my life [editing and pub- 
lishing the Harbinger of Light] to come thus in contact 
with so many minds and present them a living faith which 
has transformed for me the whole of existence. I am, how- 
ever, overburdened, but with the assistance of my guardian 
spiritual helpers go on my way rejoicing, feeling every 
burden light when borne for a great cause. Allow me to 
congratulate you on this golden day, making fifty years 
of your united lives, in the name of your many friends 
beneath the Southern Cross. 

Annie Bright, 

Editor and Publisher of the Harbinger of Light, Mel- 
bourne, Australia. 

I know ^*A Golden Sheaf" will be as interesting to me 
and as masterly as are all your writings, from which I have 
derived not only valuable instruction, but better inspira- 
tion. Wishing you a happy day for your golden wedding 
and many, many golden years, I have the honor to remain, 
Fraternally yours. 

Dr. E. Greer, 
Author and Lecturer. 

From A. Gaston, ex-representative and for many years 
president of the Casadaga Camp Meeting : 

I wish to express my appreciation of your labors in the 
spiritualistic field during the past half century. It was 



266 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

fifty years ago that I, an enthusiastic country boy, became 
convinced of the truth of spirit return. Ever since I have 
kept in touch with your work for the cause I loved, and 
your literary attainments, unselfish faithfulness and zeal 
have ever been appreciated during these years. The old 
guard will soon have passed from mortal sight ! Alas, and 
where are those who can fill their places? 
Assuring you of my high appreciation, I am, 
Fraternally, 

A. Gaston. 

Accept my hearty congratulations to the coming fiftieth 
anniversary of your marriage life and fifty-fifth year of 
your labor in the advocating of Spiritualism and spreading 
the light throughout the world. May you live for many 
years on this earth plane to dispel darknes and enlighten 
the world. A. Fischer, Cleveland, 0. 

As a thirty- four year old disciple of Spiritualism I greet 
you with most fraternal regards as my elder brother of 
fifty- five years' service in the cause of the Spiritual philos- 
ophy, which has been so ably and scientifically demon- 
strated in your platform lectures, your contributions to 
the Spiritualist journals, and your valuable published 
books. Fortunately for myself, I have always closely 
studied and thoroughly assimilated and utilized the grand 
truths given through your inspiration, and I am glad to 
voice my appreciation of the help and instruction received 
therefrom. I also desire to record the pleasure I have en- 
joyed by the perusal of the beautiful poems written by 
Mrs. Tuttle during past years. They, too, have been 
helpful, uplifting and soul-satisfying beyond the power of 
language to express, and I return grateful thanks both to 
herself and her inspirers. 

Wishing Mrs. Tuttle and yourself long years of future 
usefulness and happiness believe me ever 

Fraternally yours for Truth and Humanity, 

Dr. John C. Wyman, 
Corresponding Secretary of the Brooklyn Psychical Re- 
search Society, Brooklyn, N". Y. 

Dr. W. H. Terry, who for more than thirty years has 
edited and published the Harbinger of Light, Melbourne, 
Australia, a magazine of which any cause might be justly 
proud; who has crystallized in his self -devoted life the 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 267 

principles he has advocated; who has well earned the title 
of sage of the Southern Cross, writes from his ideal home 
on the hills overlooking the city and the magnificent sur- 
rounding scenery: 

"I am glad you have been spared in earth-life to con- 
tinue the labors to which you have been so faithful, and 
to see a little of the harvest from the seeds you have sown. 
Your dream has been under inspiring teachers, to lay the 
foundation of a spiritual science, as demonstrated and 
reliable as that which explains the laws of the physical 
world. To my understanding these teachers have suc- 
ceeded, and I am certain you will look from the spheres 
of light on the full recognition of this new spiritual 
science.^^ 

Such is the intimate psychical relation between Dr. Terry 
and myself that one time, when he desired a certain article 
written for his magazine, he wrote me making the request. 
Almost at the same hour I was impressed with the subject, 
and wrote and mailed the article. It reached him about the 
time his letter came to me. As it takes at least three 
months for interchange of letters between this country and 
Australia, the time he had to wait for reply was decreased 
by half. The instance also shows that in transmission of 
thought through the spirit ether distance is not an element 
to be considered. 

My Precious Friends : It would give me great pleasure 
had I the words to express my heartfelt Congratulations to 
you on the most sacredly sweet and notable occasion of 
your golden anniversary. Many j^ears have I known of 
your grand and loving service for a cause which to me has 
been the nearest and dearest. I sincerely hope you may 
long be spared to the world that so much needs your 
precious and uplifting ministrations of spiritual wisdom. 

With loving regards and good wishes from Mrs. Longley 
and myself, Fraternally thine, 

C. Payton Longley. 

Most Valued Friends : What language is sweet enough 
in which to convey to you the congratulations of a loving 
and fraternal heart on the occasion of your golden anni- 
versary? I know of no phraseology sufficiently choice for 
the portrayal of the good wishes and loving thoughts that 
go out to you both from our home, and it is pleasing to 



268 A GOLDEN 8HEAF 

know that like tenderness flows to you from numerous 
souls all over the land — souls that have been blessed by 
your individual and joint contributions to the educational 
and edifying literature of the ages — philosophical, scien- 
tific and poetical. Great have been your achievements, 
glorious must be your reward. 

My words are weak, but they express my best wishes 
for many years of happy life for you yet on earth. I know 
that honored spirit inspirers join in my soulful congratu- 
lations and blessings for you. 

Mary T. Longley, 
Sec. Nat. Spiritual Association, Washington, D. C. 

Hon. James Robertson, Author and Critic. 

Respected Friends : Valuable as are the phenomena con- 
nected with modern Spiritualism, without the great works 
associated with the names of Hudson Tuttle and Andrew 
Jackson Davis we would lack the harmony between the 
action and the agents. Miracles, so called, do not feed the 
hungry soul or satisfy the intellect. Turning water into 
wine or walking on the water are of little value compared 
with "The Arcana of Nature," or "Nature's Eevelations," 
or "The Evolution of the God and Christ Ideas.'' These 
works are overflowing with light and guidance and help 
us at last to understand the precise meaning of the word 
"inspiration," Not since Shakespeare gave forth his time- 
defying "Hamlet" and "Macbeth" has the world been 
blessed with such literary marvels. From them will be 
found a scientific and truly spiritual religion, for they 
give the clearest evidence that the souls gone on seek to 
minister to the children of earth ; that there is a university 
greater than Oxford and Cambridge from which the most 
important of knowledge can be imbibed. 

I have always felt that the most important of Hudson 
Tuttle's statements was that he was but the amanuensis 
of ripened souls in that kingdom which has seemingly 
been closed to earth. Truly it is amongst the wonders of 
wonders, that what all the universities of Christendom 
could not give was unfolded to a youth without any aid 
from books or schools. The book attracted the learned 
Buechner, who largely quoted from it, mistaking it for the 
work of a profound scientist. Darv/in also quoted from 
its pages passages corroborative of his phase of thought. 

We are brought face to face, through this man's life, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 369 

with the fact that there are at times those who receive 
inspiration from higher intelligences, and such in purity 
and fullness give the key to the astonishing achievements 
of genius, as seen in Shakespeare, Burns, Shelley and 

others. .^11-1 i 

It is thirty years since I was first electrified by the read- 
ing of "The Arcana of Spiritualism," for it gave me a 
grasp of the great and comprehensive movement. It was 
among the first volumes which fell into my hands when I 
awakened from the sleep of death and taught me many 
things of which I had hitherto been ignorant. 

Emma Eood Tuttle's lyrics have soothed many achmg 
hearts and brought Spiritualism in its sweetest aspect mto 
many homes. Epes Sargent truly said she is "the poet of 
the new dispensation.'' All good will follow them m their 
future steps, for they have been true and faithful servants 
of the Highest. James Eobertson. 

Glasgow, Scotland. 

We send our subscription and wish to add a few words 
expressive of my appreciation of your work. You have 
written, without doubt, more pages having direct bearing 
on our heaven-born religion than any other person living, 
and, without a shade of flattery, let one who has been a 
Spiritualist for almost fifty years say that they are to my 
mind the most valuable of any writings before the world. 
We join in thanks and the inspiring intelligences. 

As brother and sister in the cause we love, 

E. N. AND E. E. WiLLCOX, Milan, 0. 

I find the rereading of any of your books affords me 
great pleasure, and "The Golden Sheaf,'' I have no doubt, 
will please me. I regard the "Eeligion of Man" and 
"Arcana of Spiritualism" as the grandest I have ever 
read. May you be spared and inspired to give to the 
hungry ones further additions to the knowledge they need, 
is the ardent wish and prayer of the writer, 

Joseph Barker, Kinkardine, Ont. 

Your method of commemorating your anniversary com- 
mends itself to me. There could be nothing more appro- 
priate, or more appreciated by your friends. Fifty years 
too-ether! And five years more in the cause of humane 
education, liberal thought and the philosophy of Spiritu- 



270 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

alism. How blessed to us is this knowledge of the life be- 
yond! I know you both appreciate to the fullest extent 
the strength you have been to each other in "sunshine 
and in shadow/' in your efforts to spread abroad the gospel 
of truth. You have done much and sometime and some- 
where you will receive the reward you so justly merit. I 
congratulate you most heartily that you have been spared 
to each other and your friends for so many years. 
With love and best wishes for you and yours, 

Mary A. Newton, New York City, 
President of the First Society of Spiritualists. 

By your books I know you, and they have been the 
most helpful to me in my study of the spiritual philosophy. 
The "Eeligion of Man" was a perfect revelation to me and 
helped me out of the slough of old theology as nothing 
else had been able to do. I have been benefited by all your 
works, for you strike right into the heart of things and 
make the most abstruse subject clear. 

Jane Y. Puddock, Harbor Branch, Mich. 

Dear Friends and Co-Workers: I notice with pleasure 
that you are to issue "A Golden Sheaf" in commemoration 
of your fiftieth anniversary of marriage and a longer term 
of service to the cause of Spiritualism. This memento of 
these events that are of importance to your lives and to 
our mutual cause in the field of humanitarianism will be 
of great value because of your mutual fidelity and co- 
operation and your invaluable service as writers of and 
lecturers for spiritual truths. . Your efforts have been well 
rendered and the angel song of "Well done, good and faith- 
ful servants," should surely be heard by you. I trust that 
this memento of your careers will find an abiding place 
in the homes of a spiritual people who will keep you in 
loving remembrance for ages to come, as pioneers in the 
most important movement ever instituted for humanity 
by them in conjunction with immortal hosts. 
Fraternally, 

George W. Kates. 

Fifty years married ! That seems a long time. I send 
you my heartiest congratulations and sincerely hope you 
both may enjoy life's blessings many, many years. I also 



'A GOLDEN 8HEAF 271 

hope it may be my pleasure to some day, sometime, some- 
where, meet you face to face. 

Yours very respectfully, 

Mrs. Jennie Leona Ferguson^ 
Minneapolis, Minn. 

Since I have known anything of Spiritualism I have 
sought for books helpful along that line of study, and I 
have found none more useful than those inspired in the 
Tuttle home. Your Lyceum Guide was the first spiritual- 
istic book I ever owned and one of my dearest now. The 
book on Mediumship presents its examples and instructions 
so plain and logical, it seems to me, that the dullest minds 
cannot fail to understand. 

With the best wishes that the angel world be ever close 
to you both, I am. Sincerely, 

Elizabeth Schauss, 
Inspirational Speaker. 

Send "A Golden Sheaf.^^ We gathered spring flowers 
together. The summer is beautiful here. We live on the 
shores of the ocean and nothing but water between us and 
Africa, so we get a refreshing ocean breeze and the trade 
winds. We have not yet met our nearest neighbor on the 
east, but may some time lean over the garden gate and 
gossip about the other fellows. He is only 3,500 miles away. 

I have reread "Evolution of the God and Christ-Ideas" ; 
I have no trace of bigotry in me and I can appreciate the 
book. I admire the author and his talented wife. We 
agree in essentials. 

S. P. Leland, Ph.D., LL.D., Sea Breeze, Cal., 

Lecturer on Popular Science. 

Spiritualism came like a ray of sunshine into a dungeon. 
Prior to its advent the world was without a tangible or 
solid basis for its faith in immortality. The setting forth 
of this wonderful gospel has, it is hardly necessary to say, 
been attended with immense difficulties. Some adherents 
have been more enthusiastic than wise, while others have 
had only mercenary ends in view. A few have gone on 
bearing the burden and holding aloft the torch of Truth. 
I rank you as one of these pioneers and congratulate you 
on your half century in the field, and of wedded life. 

John Rutherford^ 
Eoker-by-the-Sea, Sunderland, England, 



272 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

I have read your writings ever since the Banner of Light 
began in its early years to publish them. Then I read 
them in the Religio-Philosophical Journal and now in our 
beloved Progressive Thinker. Also have read your books 
and enjoy them more and more. 

I am now nearly 80 years old, nearing my last sunset 
of this life. May angels attend you as they have in the 
past, is the heartfelt wish of an old friend, 

Sarah A. Thayer, North Cambridge, Mass. 

I congratulate you on the usefulness of your lives and 
the many 3^ears you have journeyed together. May all 
blessings rest upon you and the great principles for which 
you have shown such zealous devotion grow strong and 
prevail. G. W. Brook, Nanvatasa, Wis., 

Lecturer and Prest. of the Wis. State Sp. Association. 

Dear Old Time Friends : The intervening miles of farm- 
land, sage brush, plains and mountainous regions seem in 
a way suggestive of the varied experiences of the busy, 
changeful years that lie between the present and the happy 
days of long ago. I am a faithful lover of old friends and 
the long past days. My best rendering of these thoughts 
was given in my poem, "Christmas on the Coast." 

I miss so many, many old-time friends. 
Who used to greet me on a Christmas day ; 
I ponder on the things they used to say, 

And revel in the enchantment distance lends. 

Your books I study more than read, for while they are 
laden with thoughts, they suggest far more. 

Prof. Allen A. Bartow, Bartow, Wash., 

Educationalist. 

Most Esteemed Friends : Memorial celebrations of wed- 
lock that have continued past fifty-mile posts, without wan- 
dering on by-paths, are like unto diamonds or radium, the 
value being gradiiated by their rarity. 

The proof of fifty consecutive years of married life is 
overwhelming evidence legally and morally that such a 
union is born and continued in love. 

Love and Charity go hand in hand and lead the proces- 
sion of cardinal virtues. Faith may be lost in sight; hope 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 273 

ends in fruition, but Love extends beyond the grave to the 
boundless realms of eternity. 

I wave my pot of burning incense at you both, laden 
with the sweet swelling spices of good wishes for a con- 
tinuation of the journey to its sweet conclusion. 
Most sincerely, 
George P. Bicknell, Decatur, 111. 

May the sheaves yet to harvest be more golden than 
those already garnered. May your earthly hands not be 
unclasped for many years, that those who need your help 
m.ay receive. Mrs. T. U. Eeynolds, Troy, N. Y. 

We want to place a library in our spiritual temple and 
solicit a copy of your book for the same. 

EoLLA Stubbs, 
Pres. St. Sp. Asso., Minnesota. 

The years bear us forward, may we trust upward. My 
earnest congratulations and thankfulness for your lives' 
work. Rev. John W. Eing. 

I wish to say "thank you" to one whose sane sweetness 
and spiritual insight have been an uplift to me and the 
new views have made the universe over. 

F. S. Smedley, Berea, 0. 

I have seen eighty winters and am simply waiting till 
the shadov/s are a little longer grown. God bless you both. 
Mrs. C. B. Hanks, Wina'bago, Minn. 

The pleasure and profit I have derived from reading 
your books has been worth more to m.e than all the gold 
of this golden state. May health and happiness be yours 
to the end of your lives. 

Edwin Peterson, Santa Eosa, Cal. 

But few workers are recognized till after they are dead, 
but we all press on to attain all that is possible and do 
all the good we can. Dr. Beverly, Chicago, 111. 

We have passed our golden wedding by five years. We 
were full in the spiritual faith when we were united. It 
has been a consolation and strength in all vicissitudes, 
losses, disappointments and cares of our lives. May all 
blessings be yours. 

Mr. and Mrs. D. L. Haynes, Middletown, Conn. 



274: a. GOLDEN SHEAF 

May you and your most estimable companion continue 
to exist in the mortal to celebrate the seventy-fifth anniver- 
sary, and may you continue to scatter seeds of kindness, 
love and wisdom in the future as you ever have in the past. 
Very truly yours, 

N. H. Briggs, 
Atty. and Coun. at Law, Battle Creek, Mich. 

Unlike most workers in any intellectual field, you are 
yourselves harvesting the crop from the seed you com- 
menced sowing for others in your early youth. As you 
have ever since that time been in the band of life's sowers, 
coming generations will reap most of the benefit, but there 
have always been abundant gleanings for the hungry soul. 

It would have puzzled a wise man of the long ago to 
determine the result if a philosopher should marry a poet. 
But the unexpected happened, and Hudson Tuttle and 
Emma Eood have shown us that the ideal and the practical 
can blend into every day housekeeping and yet chase in- 
humanity to its lair and preach the gospel of universal 
brotherhood. 

When I make the acquaintance of a Mahatma I am 
going to ask him what kind of a Karma enabled you two 
to twine round one another for a long life and live all the 
time in the sunshine of the spirit. I would have liked some 
of that Karma myself, and so would most of your friends. 
But, apparently, w^e slipped into our mortal bodies in 
recess when Schoolmaster Mahatma was off duty. Next 
time we will be more careful and learn our lesson in the 
Tuttle school. 

Anyhow and somehow, you two drew a prize in life's 
lottery and have used it to make other lives the better for 
your having lived. One has done it in solid prose and the 
other flashed it in a sheen of love for all, including the 
world of animals, so that even pious dogs and horses and 
birds will remember you in their prayers and thanksgivings. 

I should like to see a philosopher and a poet in their 
daily livr-s, but I never had that privilege. My private 
opinion is that the philosopher has had, sometimes, to be 
called down to earth from his intellectual roamings and 
possibly has needed occasional "improvement" by the fam- 
ily housekeeper. And I should not be surprised if the 
poet has, in her turn, sometimes added unusual flavors that 
might not tempt a hungry man to over-indulgence. The 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 275 

inspired soul may bring heaven to earth, but he cannot 
always make a good fit of it. The very best earth life is 
but an adulterated heaven, where a real angel often goes 
hungry and with misfit wings, I hope you may both have 
many more sheaves to harvest ere you pass to your next 
sphere of labor for others. And that I may be one of 
your privileged guests in that tomorrow which begins to 
seem near to " Your congratulating friend, 

Charles Dawbarn, San Leandro, Cal. 

I earnestly wish that you both may be spared at least a 
few more years to champion our glorious cause and impart 
inspiration and courage in the rank and file. 
Faithfully and fraternally yours, 

A. E. Arrowsmith, Louisville, Ky. 

I hope your lives may be prolonged indefinitely not only 
for the good you have done but the good you may do in the 
future. Sincerely, 

E. D. Davidson^ San Francisco, Cal. 

Congratulations on your fiftieth anniversary, and may 
you go on many years in the upbuilding on the spiritual 
cause and humanitarian work. 

Yours very respectfully, 

Mrs. T. W. Collins, Clinton, Mo. 

Over forty years' fraternal association assures us that 
we are to receive a prize in "The Golden Sheaf." It will 
contain many gems, but it can be only a taste of the many 
good things said and written since you two became one 
flesh. Truly your writings have had a worldwide liberal- 
izing influence, and the spiritual vision of thousands has 
been quickened and cleared thereby, our own among the 
number. Mr. and Mrs. M. H. Darrow, Milan,, 0. 

(Mr. and Mrs. Darrow are co-workers in the Lyceum.) 
I wish you the greatest success in holding up the light 
to the world. David Haynes, Middletown, Conn. 

I wish to say to you to turn on the electric lights so they 
may shine to the ends of the earth. A recognition of these 
benefits you have conferred on mankind will be your re- 



276 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

ward when you depart for the other shore. May your lives 
be hale and blessed at the century mark is the wish of 
T. C. Harris, Sacksville, New Brunswick. 

I wish you a glorious reunion of golden memories of a 
useful past. Prof. J. C. F. Grumbine. 

Accept my congratulations at your fiftieth anniversary. 
I expect a treat in "The Golden Sheaf." 

Joel Bynes^ Los Angeles, Cal 

Fifty fleeting years ; blue skies and cloudy weather. 

Dutiful feet that have trod together; 

Oh! Time, how long! Looking toward the west, 

Like a dream thy swift flight coming from the east; 

Much good cheer among exalted guides 

Tracing two rills along the mountain sides; 

Grand and full now a river sweeps. 

Sublime in power, — See ! old ocean leaps 

Along the harbor bar, with solemn roar 

Hear! harmony from yon angelic shore; 

There beneath the moon's soft smiles waits sweeter rest 

Than Araby the blessed gave to earth's breast. 

Good and faithful souls, you have ever been 

Teachers of truth, beloved of God and men. 

— Wilson Duncan. 

Mr. Duncan has a volume of poems written among and 
descriptive of the magnificent scenery of Idaho, and has 
by popular favor received the name of The Idaho Poet. 

Fifty years of life together. A half century of joy and 
sorrow, of pain and pleasure, of acquiring knowledge and 
dispensing it. What splendid treasures you have been 
gathering for your future home where we shall all soon 
meet again! Millions of our human brothers and sisters 
have profited by your helpful teachings, directly or indi- 
rectly, while you unassumingly have been quietly moving 
along side by side scarcely conscious of the mighty work 
for good that you were doing. May health, peace of mind 
and happiness be your portion until you shall be called 
to the higher life. 

Ever your true friends, 

E. W. AND C. A. Sprague. 

(Mr. and Mrs. Sprague are well known in nearly every 
town in the Northwest and throughout the Eastern states 
by their missionary labors.) 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 277 

We say without flattery, that few indeed, have filled fifty 
years as full of ceaseless and devoted work as you twain, 
and we rejoice that you are still strong and unfailing, with 
the promise of many years during which to scatter the 
seeds of truth. 

Mr. and Mrs. I. \V. Pope, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

I have finished reading the volumes of the Arcana of 
Nature and, needless to say, I am delighted with it. As 
an old-time Spiritualist, I have known you both these 
many years as most fearless, tireless and able workers in 
the great cause of thought advancement. I like you be- 
cause in all your writings you ever keep both feet on the 
ground. 

William Van Waters, Walla Walla, Wash. 

At this golden time it is most appropriate for you to 
bind up a sheaf of thoughts for your many friends. It is 
a happy inspiration. I extend the warmest hand of fra- 
ternal love to you and prayer for your continued happiness. 
James Gt. Underhill, Author and Poet. 

We never forget you and unite in heartfelt appreciation 
of your work, and thankfulness that you have written and 
we are able to enjoy. Evolution of the God and Christ 
Ideas has been a revelation to us, and we read and reread 
Soul to Soul and Asphodel Blooms. With affection and 
best wishes for you both, and your household, 

J. T. and Maria Buchanan, 
Glen Lemington, Queensland, Australia 

My congratulations, and all good wishes for you. 

F. Cameron, Kimberley, South Africa. 
The reception of your Arcana of Spiritualism, while I 
was commissioner at the St. Louis Exposition, has been 
the potent cause of awakening psychic research in this old 
kingdom. 

Judge W. Groblachoff, Sophia, Bulgaria. 



378 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

CHILDLESS. 

"What would I not give to see faces now gone, 
And hear their dear voices, once mingled in song ; 
To feel the warm touch of their lips in a kiss 
As they fondly caressed me? Ah, then life was bliss. 

When spring with her flowers and singing birds gay 
Comes, bidding the children in woodlands to play, 
To search 'neath the leaves for the first blossoms peeping. 
For mine she calls vainly; alas, they are sleeping. 

Then follows the summer, with hills clothed in green, 
And long, balmy evenings when children are seen 
So happy in groups, as bright roses they twine — 
In silence I turn to these four graves of mine. 

With autumn and winter my life's slowly dying; 
'Neath this burden of sorrow my poor heart is crying 
For rest that comes only through Death's golden gate. 
Oh, God, in your mercy, how long must I wait? 

A response comes like music from some distant shore; 
*'Dear heart, be not lonely, thou art loved as of yore; 
We come from God's beautiful garden on high. 
Your children of earth still are yours in the sky." 

Agnes Tuttle. 



LIST OF SUBSCEIBEES. 

(Only names received before Oct. 1 appear in this list.) 
Mr. and Mrs. George T. Angell, Don J. Arnold, M. L. 
Anthony, Mrs. S. E. Allen, Mrs. Lavonia Ella Albee, Mrs. 
M. J. Anderson, A. E. Arrowsmith, C. H. Ames, Mrs. 
Dorathy Appleby, Mrs. A. C. Andrews, Samuel Alberton, 
Mrs. Jennie E. Armstrong, A. C. Adams, Mrs. J. Allmen- 
dinger, John D. Atkinson, F. Anlanf, 0. M. Ambler, G. H. 
Andrew, Frank Allen, F. M. Abbot, G. W. and M. A. 
Aldrich. 

Emma F. Jay jjullene, Mr. and Mrs. J. T. Buchanan, 
Glenleming, Australia; G. H. Brooks, Mrs. Louisa L. 
Bacon, Mrs. Sara K. Bolton, H. H. Brockman, Mrs. Char- 
lotte Briskett, W. H. Bock, Henry Bremms, S. E. Brees, 
Levi S. Bailey, Prof. Del Bartow, Hon. Delevan Bates, 
Joseph Barker, W. S. Barrett, E. S. Ball, Mrs. Lenora 
Boss, N. S. Bonniksen, Joel Byrnes, Sara Bates, Harriet 
Baldwin, John Becker, Sylvester Burd, J. Spenser Baker, 



'A GOLDEN SHEAF 279 

Warren Chase Bradbury, J. W. Buck, Mrs. Elisa Bundy, 
0. F. Brand, L. S. Bacon, W. S. Bassett, A. Baumann, Mar- 
tin V. Brust, 0. G. Bugbee, M. Baude, James Boyd, Har- 
vey Brown, E. W. Brooks, Dr. Eosa Benton, Albert M. 
Bailey, George E. Bicknell, Dr. J. C. Baldorf, J. 0. Brown, 
Mrs. Dan Brown, C. A. Beverly, M. D., Madam M. A. 
Dixon, Mrs. C. A. Bell, Mrs. Charles F. Burns, David B. 
Bedient, William B. Bond, 0. Abbott Burton, L. E. Burn- 
ham, J. J. Borg, C. W. Barber, J. W. Boyd, Charles Burr, 
John Bump, C. Babcock, Walter S. Bonser, Mrs. L. M. 
Baldwin, Mrs. Sarah A. Benedict, Mrs. M. H. Boyer, C. H. 
Brown, Mrs. C. M. Burnham, Hon. N. H. Briggs, W. H. 
Borden, Mrs. M. E. Blake, Alfred Birdsall, William Bris- 
coe, Mrs. C. E. Burchard, Nikolas Becker, Theodora Bang- 
leat, M. Baude, Mrs. C. B. Bach, G. D. Balher, Mrs. Caro- 
line Biller, Geo. W. Bodyfelt, Wm. Braithwait, J. Buell. 

W. H. Crowell, Mrs. Everett Cousins, Sheriden Cham- 
blin, William A. Cameron, George E. Corpe, Edwin Cad- 
well, Mrs. Alfred Conrad, Harriet N. Crafte, Mrs. John 
Carlson, Mrs. Emily C. Clark, Alonzo Coons, Mrs. L. A. 
Carhart, Eugene J. Carrol, Mrs. Mary S. Corselius, Eobert 
P. Campbell, John M. Conley, Mrs. T. W. Collins, W. E. 
Cooper, W. P. Custer, E. D. Cain, Annie Cahill, Mrs. 
Marian Carpenter, W. H. Cummings, G. A. Coffin, David 
Cummings, Mrs. Sarah Creamer, Joseph Challand, C. H. 
Campfield, J. L. Cameron, Mrs. A. L. Chapman, Mrs. 
Charlotte H. Crocker, John B. Chrisney, Thomas Clark, 
Mrs. J. B. Collins, Mrs. E. F. Cowan, Louis J. Carlin, 
William H. Cooper, Mrs. Mary L. Cooper, L. V. Carr, Mrs. 
Martha W. Chapman, Mrs. A. Chidester, John Cooper, 
Annie M. Collins, August Clemens. 

Andrew Jackson Davis, F. T. Detray, Mr. and Mrs. D. M. 
Dunlap, Judge James Drummond, Andrew C. Dunn, Miss 
L. M. DeLano, Fred D. Dunakin, Mr. and Mrs. M. L. Dar- 
row, Mrs. Nellie Davis, Eosa Bushnell Donnelly, M. D., 
E. J. Davidson, Edward Dieren, S. H. Davis, Andrew 
Dahl, W. H. Dunham, Dr. W. C. Day, Mrs. T. S. Dugger, 
James Drummond, E. A. Doty, Marshall G. Dodds, F. W. 
and Mary E. Detray, Hon. E. A. Dague, Flora M. Davison. 

J. N. Edens, Atty. Addison Ellsworth, Emmett Dens- 
more, M. D., T. S. Erwin, G. H. Elliott, J. M. Eilors, Cyrus 



280 .1 GOLDEN SHEAF 

Emery, S. 0. Eells, Dr. F. W. Elbrey, J. N. Elmstedt, 
Henry M. Edmiston, W. A. Emerson. 

Dr. Isaac K. Funk, George Forbes, Mrs. 0. Fonda, 
James Freeman, Francis Forsyth, Mrs. Susan J. Fowler, 
Aurelia Farrand, J. Henry Ford, A. W. Foreman, M.D., 
H. F. Faust, E. Fries, Mrs. Jennie Leona Ferguson, Stan- 
ley Foster, Sarah A. French, Mr. and Mrs. C. H. Foss, 
George B. Ferris, A. M. Fish, L. W. Farwell, Ellen Froster, 
C. W. Fertick, James Fine, Mrs. Ida W. Fowler, Mrs. 
H. I. Fetter, Jesse H. Flickinger, A. M. E. Fitzsimmons. 

J. S. Gobal, Klosterpark, Holland; Hon. A. Gaston, 
J. H. Gilman, Mrs. Laura J. Gerry, Franklin Garr, Lem- 
uel Gale, Dr. E. Greer, Joe Griffin, Haslep "W. Granson, 
A. S. Gilson, Prof. J. C. F. Grunbine, Mrs. Tillie B. 
Grunwald, Mrs. Walter E. Graffin, J. J. Griswold, Mary H. 
Godbe, A. B. Gaston, J. Guiwits, Thomas L. Grary, J. J. 
Galoway, Mrs. Sadie P. Grisham, A. B. Gleason, E. B. 
Gurthie, Albert De Golier, Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Gaston, 
Mrs. Lena Galvin, Eobert and Annie Brent, John P. 
Goodwin, Anna L. Gillispie, Sarah J. Grubb, A. B. Glea- 
son, C. V. Gleason. 

Lyman C. Howe, Mr. and Mrs. Marcus S. Hopkins, Mrs. 
Emma Hodges, A. C. Hackman, J. George Haberbach, 
Frank G. Hostek, J. H. Houston, E. W. Hulburd, E. Anne 
Hinman, T. C. Harris, Mrs. Mary Hotelling, E. J. Heinz- 
man, Floyd Harris, F. W. Handy, D. M. Hoox, J. Geo. 
Haberbasky, Vine H. Hickox, James L. Heath, Wm. Z. 
Hatchet, Wm. Hodgson, Daniel and Emmer Hull, John 
Huntley, J. W. Hammond, David Haynes, J. W. Hannum, 
LeEoy E. Hale, Celia C. Hilton, Mrs. C. B. Hanks, Jo- 
sephine B. Hicks, Henry and Gertrude Heinsohn, Marie 
Heinsohn, Mrs. Wilmer Holmes, Mrs. Edna Hander, Henry 
H. Hunt, Elsa Hornbeck, Mrs. J. F. Hyde, Charles Hob- 
kirk, Fred H. Hoppe, N". Harry, Byron F. Hill, C. Floyd 
Harris, Wm. Y. Henderson, John D. Henry, Albert Houser, 
Mrs. Sally A. Haven, Henry Hickman, Ora Holland, Wm. 
and Helen A. Hopkins, Julius F. Sweet Hyde, Mrs. Mary 
E. Hood, Jeffry Hilton, Mrs. D. Herrick, Mrs. Phoeba 
Hathoway, Samuel K. Hall, Mrs. Frank Haverfield, Marie 
Heinsohn, C. M. Hoffman, E. D. Hammond, W. N. Hall, 
G. Herman, Mrs. M. A. Hayford, Ann Hess. 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 281 

Nickolas Inglis, George L. Ives, Mrs. Mattie Inman, Gust 
A. Imendorf. 

John Jones, Henry W. Jacox, M. A. Jones, C. W. Jack- 
son, P. A. Jenson, E. M. Jones, M. H. Jones, Olaus John- 
son, Felix E. Jewell, Mrs. Betsy Jones, Mrs. H. H. John- 
son, J. J. Johnson, H. E. Johnson, H. F. Johnson, W. H. 
James, Christen Jacobson. 

George W. Kates, Aug. H. Kreisel, Geo. W. Kelly, Will 
M. Kellog, C. \Y. Kemberling, Thos S. Kizer, Wm. B. 
Kitchem, Mrs. Johanna Keske, Mrs. H. E. Kilbury, Mrs. 
Augusta Karlkind, Mrs. Dr. Kinne, A. F. Kniesche, J. W. 
Kolachny, Mrs. M. Klein, August Kjellquist, Walter C. 
Knowlton, F. E. Kinney, Jacob Koenigstein, Mrs. M. A. 
Knapp, John Kaemppers, C. Kellum, Mrs. Lizzie Anne 
Kurtz, Eobert Keller. 

Prof. Edgar L. Larkins, Prof. Samuel Phelps Leland, 
Dr. J. C. Lyman, H. M. Loomer, Alta M. Lilly, J. W. 
Lohr, Mrs. Delia M. Lowe, Julie E. Lecocq, Carnegie Li- 
brary, Corona, Cal. ; Catherine A. Long, G. W. Ladd, 
Christ Lowell, W. H. and Lizzie Leidhigh, James Laurie, 
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas F. Lees, Mrs. B. F. Latimer, E. T. 
Little, A. J. Long, G. W. Ladd, Thomas N. Locke, C. B. 
Lovett, Mrs. John Laing, Mrs. James Leach, J. E. Law, 

E. T. Libbey, W. Laplain, Mary T. Longley, Prof. C. Pay- 
ton Longley, J. H. Lancaster, Miss M. A. Lane, 0. C. Lea- 
vitt, Mrs. L. B. Lloyd. 

John Musselman, J. F. Mincher, J. T. McClure, M. L. 
Magnusson, 0. E. Musgrave, P. S. Mills, A. Munson, Mrs. 
H. L. Miller, Sidney F. Moore, J. J. McCoy, Wm. W. 
Meeker, Mrs. M. A. McHatton, Orrin Merritt, D. C. Mont- 
gomery, Geo. H. McLeod, Mr. and Mrs. Isaac McKisson, 

F. W. Menerage, M. L. Magnetsson, Mrs. Vada Marschall, 
Mt. and Mrs. Fred L. Mehrtens, J. M. Mathews, Mr. and 
Mrs. C. H. Mathews, Charles MacAther, Hugh Murry, 
J. W. McCord, W. C. Metier, S. S. Marsh, Mr. and Mrs. 
D. L. Haines, Birdie McCrosky, Angus G. Macdonald, 
A. W. Moore, J. J. Morse, Mrs. George Mortimer, J. T. 
McColgan, M. D., Mrs. M. E. Menick, E. L. McISTett, 
Thomas McNamee, Wallace H. Moore, Anna Morgan, 
John M. Mathews, Louis Marnitz, Lucy B. Mills, W. H, 



282 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Marsh, Palemone C. Mills, D. C. McDougal, Willard 
Morse, W. F. Mason, Dr. J. F. Myrick, Mrs. Frank Ma- 
toon, Mrs. C. W. Manley, E. E. Mathews, Mrs. C. M. 
Manley, W. A. Mussy, Dr. Loretta Mann-Hammond. 

0. C. Numbson, Mrs. Maggie Norton, Emil Nelson, Mrs. 
Mary J. Newton, P. A. Norman, Mrs. H. J. Nichols. 

John G. Oswald, Alfred Olson, Ellen J. Orr, Joshua J. 
Oakeshot, Mary C. Ordway, Miss Ellen Olson, Miss Lou 
Ott. 

Mr. and Mrs. I. W. Pope, Ellen J. Parker, Charles H. 
Pratt, Willet Phillips, Mrs. Charlotte Pratt, Frederick J. 
Pfister, Jane Puddock, Miss Hortense M. Phelps, Emmery 
Perrin, Ellen L. Parker, John E. Polkinhorn, A. J. Pe- 
hond, Edwin Peterson, Horace E. Patin, Mrs. H. M. Place, 
Mrs. Sue E. Page, Dr. E. Page, S. G. Peticolas, Mrs. 
Emily L. Perkins, Henry C. Parks, Dr. E. A. Palmer, 
Mrs. James K. Petty, John Penny, A. E. Pratt, Mrs. 
Charlotte Pratt, Oliver Proctor, Eugene Pearl, Emily 
Phillips. 

R. E. Quillin. 

John Rutherford, Roker-by-the-Sea, England; James 
Robertson, Glasgow, Scotland; L. L. Randall, Wm. M. 
Rider, Judge 0. G. Richards, Sara Stone Rockhill, Z. B. 
Richards, Mrs. T. A. Reynolds, C. F. Richardson, John 
Robertson, Mrs. Marie Rehfield, Mrs. Cora D. Ringlep, 
H. S. Ruhlman, Mattie Rector, G. 0. Reed, L. L. Robbins, 
Frank T. Ripley, T. W. Ripley, Mrs. Kate D. Roberts, 
J. D. Rapp, P. y. Powdiez, J. R. Russell, Alvin Randall, 
Mrs. C. A. Rodgers, John A. Rushfeld, Mrs. Caroline L. 
Rich, Clayton J. Rood, Mrs. H. R. Rhoades. 

Juliet H. Severance, M. D., W. Monroe Sage, Alfred 
Swanson, Mrs. Elizabeth Schauss, P. Semple, S. D. Schlat- 
terback, Ralph C. Stone, Mrs. Thirza Rathbun, Miss Nora 
Speke, W. Bowman, C. B. Swain, Mr. and Mrs. Allen 
Shadle, Mrs. Maggie M. Shepherd, T. S. Smedley, Edmond 
B. Sargent, Louis M. Smith, C. W. Slayton, Mrs. S. P. 
Stilson, B. F. Sliter, Milo R. Smith, Wm. Schroeder, Mr. 
Rolla and Mrs. Esther A. Stubbs, Henry Scharfetter, H. P. 
Slawson, 0. Z. Skinner, Mrs. Nettie Schoonmaker, W. A, 



A GOLDEN SHEAF 283 

Starret, E. M. Stickney, J. S. Schrender, Mrs. Kate S. 
Sherman, Mrs. Minnie M. Sonle, Irving F. Symons, Lmd- 
ley Swain, William H. Stnte, Mr. and Mrs. E. I. Spencer, 
Mrs. Albert Shafer, J. S. Smith, Mrs. Henrietta Staub, 
Mrs. H. A.- Stockey, Simon String, G. F. Smith, Miss 
Helen Snow, David Sehnmacker, Jacob Schauple, H. A. 
Smith, Allen Sanders, Mrs. 0. A. Stevens, Mary Stiibbs, 
Mrs. B. G. Hoy, Mrs. Viola F. Stone, F. A. Studer, Mr. 
and Mrs. John Snook, Sr., Walter Stahr, Mrs. Ellen 0. 
Sweot, 0. Z. Skinner, Mr. and Mrs. Wm. F. Schneider, 
B. F. Spencer, James A. Smith, J. and C. Slade, Miss 
Maggie Schrey, Simon String, Mrs. Orpa Stiles, H. 
Schoneman 

John Tawney, Charles H. Thompson, C. E. Toby, Mrs. 
Almira Thompson, Wm. J. Topley, T. 0. Telford, Dr. Eva 
E. Templeton, Mrs. G. W. Taylor, Eev. G. Tabor Thomp- 
son, Mrs. Jerusha W. Tefft, Mrs. S. A. Thayer, Thos. 
Turner, John T. Thompson, Mrs. Diantha Tuttle, Mrs. 
E. A. Tread, Mrs. Sadie Thurston, Prof. Wm. T. Thomp- 
son, Mrs. F. L. E. Thompson, 0. C. Tillinghast, Edmond 
Taylor, F. H. Tremere, Helen L. Tredwell, Eli Thorp, 
G. Thorsteinson, Joe Trounson, W. S. Thomas, Wm. Ters- 
son, T. A. Thompson, E. B. Tripps, M. D. 

Mr. and Mrs. B. F. Underwood, Dr. J. S. Underhill. 

Eev. Harriet Vollkmann. 

Col. E. T. Van Horn, Mary E. Van Scheick, Mrs. M. C. 
Vlasek, Mary A. Vertel. 

Mrs Clara Watson, E. W. Wallis, London, Eng. ; Mary 
E Woodworth, Mrs. A. J. Warren, Margaret L. Wood, 
Miss Katherine Wemhoener, Jay Williams, Joseph Wanless, 
Newman Weeks, George E. Weiss, Mrs. Clay Willet, Hattie 
M Wood, Capt. George W. Walrond, Wm. 0. Williams, 
David and E. E. Winkler, Mr. and Mrs. E. N". Willcox, 
Mrs F. Wentworth, P. N. Williams, Charles L. Waffle, 
A J Webster, E. M. Wilbur, E. A. Wickersham, Martha 
E Watson, Miss Eeba Welch, ]\I. S. Weed, Mrs. M. E. 
Williams, Etta F. Wilde, Mrs. Ella C. Waters, B. F. Web- 
ster Ida P A. Whitlock, Emma H. Wells, Miss Laura 
WoAsetter, L. H. Warren, Dr. John C. Wyman, G. W. 



284 A GOLDEN SHEAF 

Walters, Eev. G. W. Way, Louise V. Wilder, E. G. C. Web- 
ster, Miss Hannah D. Wemhoener, Spurgeon Walling, J. 
A. Walbert, Mrs. Nellie Williams, Jacob Weber, J. Water- 
worth, F. U. Worley, Wm. Watchlin, F. S. Williams, John 
Weber, Peter Wickstorm, M. D. Wright, Mrs. M. E. Willis, 
Mrs. J. S. Watler, Charles L. WaOe, B. H. Wright, B. F. 
Wallingford, Dr. A. E. Wheeler, Dr. L. A. White. 

Mrs. M. E. Yorrington, James H. Young, Annie L. 
Young, Gavin Young. 

J. J. Zimmermann. 
F. Cameron, Kimberley, South Africa. 
Miss E. E. Hinge, Melbourne, Australia. 
Judge W. Groblachoff, Sophia, Bulgaria. 



m^ t<^m (£)^[atL(i$}(^i 



Words by EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



Music !.y FELIX SCHELLIXG. 




4. SonetiaesI think tl.atth* clo . ry of heavii Haii?s lilc a \ei1 Ihirkly spangtedfrith stars, Be 




i 1. O for the v«»ifp of an an .gel to siti^, A . hout our lost dai-lin; so fen.der and tnieMhos* 
( 2. There ill the midst or the an . gels of Iis;h( Willi as.phodels Moomins like gems at your feo« O 
3. Well I re.mem .herthe wild winlerday When part.ing the snow spreal.we eovered your form, So' 



^m'^m^^f^- 



eyes weW as Miie as the skies of the spring Whose heart was as pure as hep 
turn from the faces so ho - ly and hright Dream of the old . en days 

move - less and cold with the pit . i. less clay And tiirn us a . way with our 




(I 



jew - els of dew 
sun . ny and sweet 
face to the storm 



1 can hut mourn hep in sor . row and tears 
Lau^h till the at - mo-sphn-e wa . vers witii glee And 

Earth hath not Mos.soms e . noii^h for our dead So 




will not for.get me where. ev . er ycnthe B ut stretch a white fin . gep to 



n J'^r r ^, \ 'r'::/,[ rriJ g^^ 



Life was so gladsome and earth was so fair Days were hut hlos . soms which 

gen . tly the an . gels look up in suprise Ah • would you say you were 

all un- a. domed you went down the dark way But the an . gels had wo - ven fresh 




grew on the years Wo . ven In flow'r chains for young life to wear, 

think, ing of me Who used to read gos .pels of love in your eyes, 

flow rs fop your head From op . u. lent gap . dens you walk ii).-v today. 




CHOKrS. 



*LTO. 



Oh my lost darling come down from the skies, See'how I beckon you filled with re. ^rel 




Oh my losl darling come downfromthe skies. See how I beckon you filled with re-gret 



^T H r ^- p i rp p r^r rp^r i r ^jjh 




Come with the love whichwas mine in your eyes Beauti.ful an. gel re.mem.her me yet. 




Come with the love which was mine in youP eyes Beau . ti ful an.gel re. mem. Tier me yet 



V J J' J' J IJy f ff J »tY-FPr m \ r r r, m 




XTbe Hngel Buglecs 



anniversary Song. 



Words by EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 
Majestically. . 






33: 



i 



Music by J. J. BLOOD. 

-A- 






1. Be -hold, the gates of Hea - ven,. Are stand-ing wide a- part; Be • 

2. O beauteous an -gel buglers, Now play-ing on the height, So 
%. Phil. • OS - - phers and sa • ges. In heayen a thous • and .years, De 

J ^. •:^ z^- ^ . J 






,fei^ 



^—^- 



l:=5-=§S=5Jip=p 



is 



hold, the an • gel bu • glers, Have tid - Ings to Im • parV, They 
ev ;-'• er ' green and flow- ery, A near the Gates of Light, Which 
scehd, their tho'ts trans- mit • ting, To or • a • tors And seers. Our 



-^ . 



EE:-fet2^.^S 



:ee^ee; 






^all the hosts to - geth 

stand a - jar. all read 

souls are glad with wel 



er, To eel ^•; e • brale the day,— The 
y, To Itt our loved onfes through; That 
comes. For all, from age to youth. Who 

-^ m—r-^^-i. (• * m—r r- '* 



»■ — r* — I — ^~^ — ^ ^ ^ — ( — n - — .'^ g — 



Flowing. 



;=zir:5i=:d=r:i -?j=l2i? 



-■id: 



:?EF. 









^el2: 



dawn-ing .of our gos ♦ pel, Which has swept the clouds a -way 
they njay join with mor -tals, To help eel • e • brate the nev. 
love' their fol • low he • ings, And who hun • gel- af - ter Truth. 



e^3 



Unison. 



:n?- 



~^--rr^9 ^ 



■■^- 



TZIZX 



?ir3r 



-i^r4 



Harmons 






m 



I TLI U 

O, hear the an • gel bu •< lers, As they Sbuftd the rally-ing call,— There is 



y OrPAN ONI y 






r '~f~^ 



J — 4- 






w\ 



•#- 



E^ 




hfe be - yond death's partings, Im - mor -tal 



I -ty for all. 



s-b— c:=t;«zzqf^ 



S: 



i—^f 






__i W — « — ^ — L^_ « « ^^.L__: «! « ^_[:^__^ — ^ — *^ ^,_*7J 

I 1^ ^ fi 



1^^ g 



Mor - tals tell it, sing the sto - ry, Let your banners float Ih glo - ry: Tell the 



m^ 



I 



3^ 






8va 



:rU_4 — -J — J- -i ♦, 



8v« 
4 



js__^.. J_J__4- 



^^mm^m 



sto • ry, (Organ) tell the sto - ry, (Organ) Im • mor -tal -i • ty for' all. 



Words by EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



m 



James G. Clark. 






1. Emma Claire, Emma Claire, Thoa art ebcltercd with care In tlie beau - ti - ful 

2. Emma Claire, Emma Claire, Thou wert tea cler-Iy fair. And a joy since the 

3. Emma Claire, Emma Clnire, It was bit-ter lo bear When our lil • y - bud 



pi-j — ^~i-i=^~^*-i=i-^— i^^ 



-w- -it -^ 






P 



—G- 



ip^i 



:n=:J^: 



■^ — ^—4r 



'-A ^l-._^_E:j -a — \^ 




'Inud of theLeal;" Yetthcre'sncv • er an Lour But with 

hour of thybirth, Therewas love in thine eyes. There was 

(lied in onrhands; Tho' the an . gels most ilear, Wait-ed 



ii=3 



I — ^ — i— i ^ • — m-^0 — tj — — — — t — « — ^ — L ^ — -( ^ — 3 

■^ ^ \- -••-#(•-#• -•■-*•-«■ •«•-«••«■ -r^-y- 



* -r •# 



•*••*••«>• 



iiims 



1 







love's niys-tic pow'r 
lisht in theekiep, 
lov . \\\% . ]y near 



Thy Jil 

And plad 
To bear 



y-likc prc8 - CDCC wc feel... 
ucpfl for 118 on the earth, 

thee to picas - ant • cr landt*. 



•♦"St ^ :«. ^ .«. 41. ^ir^ Sh "-i- <♦-♦•«• ^ 



•*••*■•»• 



•r TT -r s^ 




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